


The Age of the Earth

by GoldenEmpire



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Abuse, Affection, Anal Sex, Ancient Rome, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Blackmail, Blowjobs, Caring!Jason, Comfort, Cuddling, Degradation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Englishman!Percy, Faking Sex, Fights, Fingering, First Time, Forbidden Love, Forced Kissing, Foursome, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Gladiator!AU, Gladiator!Frank, Haemophobia, Harem, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Hickeys, Historical, Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Jealous Fiancee, Killing, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Lots of smut in chapter 3, M/M, Male/Female Friendships, Marking, Marriage, Mentions of Rape, Miscarriage, NFSW, Neck Kissing, Paganism, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Prince x Slave, Prince!Leo, Rape Attempt, Riding, Rough Sex, Running Away, Servants, Sex, Sex Slave AU, Sharing a Bath, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Size Difference, Sloppy Makeouts, Slow Build, Smut, Sold, The Roman Empire, Threats, Topping from the Bottom, Training, Turkish Harem, Unrequited Love, Viking!AU, Viking!Jason, Violence, War, Wars, Whipping, Winter, battles, complicated feelings, consentual, dub con, fear of blood, handjobs, hostages, insecure!Leo, jealous!Percy, long chapters, norse gods, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-08 23:23:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 89,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12875262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenEmpire/pseuds/GoldenEmpire
Summary: This is a series of PJO gay AF one shots all set in different time periods because i'm a history nerd. Each chapter is a stand alone, a different couple and quite long so get snacks.THERE IS SMUT. LOTS OF IT.Chapter 1 -  Frank x Leo Gladiator!AUChapter 2 - Jason x Percy Viking!AUChapter 3 - Jason x Percy x Will x Nico Harem!AU





	1. The Price of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo is the youngest son of the Roman Emperor who has a severe fear of blood and violence. In an attempt to make a 'man' of him, his father employs Frank, a Gladiator, to train his son. The only problem is that the two boys despise each other.

**11 th Junius 192AD **

**The Roman Empire, Italy.**

_The smoke was thick and heavy in the air, and it filled the little boy’s mouth and eyes. He wanted to cry but his mama told him not to do so. He could hear the bad men outside now – shouting and killing people their screams reverberating through the air; they were little boy’s friends and neighbours. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep out the smoke and the tears brimming under his lids._

_His mother’s hand dug into his wrist, “Just a moment more,” she croaked. The fire was close, the little boy could feel it. His clothes felt heavy and warm and from the left, from the other room in their small cottage, he could feel the incredible, deadly heat. The flames would eat him up and he would die, he was sure of it._

_He let out a small whimper before remembering that he had to stay quiet. He was so afraid – he just wanted to curl up into his mother’s warm body and forget about the bad things happening. Yet when he opened his eyes to look for her all he saw was darkness, pressing down on him. Acrid, deadly darkness. His mother’s hand was gone from his wrist._

_“Mama?” the little boy asked, voice hoarse. He coughed when the smoke slipped into his mouth and down his throat, scratching at his skin, “M-Mama?!” he called, louder, and started crying._

_The door opened suddenly – a gust of cold air fuelled the flames into the next room, making them dart out and begin to lick at the walls. Crying, the little boy crawled towards the glowing square in the wall. He wanted to get away from the flames and the smoke and he wanted to find his mother._

_Instead he found a Roman soldier standing in the door, his hand reaching down to clasp the small boy’s shirt as he hauled him to his feet, “We have another one!” he howled and shoved the boy outside in the direction of a group of other, similar, huddled, scared little boys, standing knee-deep in the snow. Around them, the village burned._

_Another soldier approached and looked down at the children, and his smile forever remained embedded in the little boy’s head, “Ah. You will make wonderful Gladiators one day.”_

The little boy jerked awake and gasped for air as the darkness of the night pressed around him. Except he was a little boy no more, but a grown man now, sleeping on a stack of hay on the cold ground of a cell. What he had just witnessed was an old memory, an old nightmare, about a village whose name the man didn’t remember and the names of boys dead a long time ago.

Frank sat up in his bed and ran a hand down his sweaty face. The warmth of the cell chased away the wintery landscape imprinted in his head and reminded him where he was – in the cells of the Coliseum, where upon the morrow he would fight for his life. Again.

Frank looked at the narrow window on the other side of the room and sighed. Was this the way his life would be forever? The man found himself asking that question more and more often...when he first began his training as a Gladiator he was too young and afraid to think of the future – self preservation was the main objective. And yet now, after all these years and all these victories, Frank grew tired. Was he to fight until he was slain? How long would that be? So far nobody had managed to end his life in the arena, and it grew...tedious. Granted, Frank was only nineteen summers old but that already was old for a Gladiator. Here they all died young, all in their prime, for glory and pride. That’s not why Frank fought. Frank was a slave, and he had no choice. He went where his master told him to and was sold from man to man for more and more money that he himself never got to own. He was cattle, and nothing more. More than anything he wished he could buy his freedom but the little money he had would get him no more than some alcohol and an occasional whore to break the monotony of his murderous life.

Frank collapsed back onto his uncomfortable floor and stared at the dark ceiling. Somewhere across the dungeon water dripped down. _Pit, pat, pit, pat.._. Across from Frank he could hear the other fighters snoring, loud and obnoxious. How many of them were sleeping their last night? How many would be dead by tomorrow?

Frank closed his eyes.

**12 th Junius 192AD (The next day)**

The Roman prince’s slim, tanned hands smoothed down his tunic as he gazed at himself in the looking glass – unsure brown eyes and wild curly hair looked back at him, “You can do this, Leo,” the boy whispered to himself, straightening up. As if summoned by his promise, the door to his chamber burst open and a hoard of giggling young adults tumbled in.

“Leo!” the boy’s oldest brother, Claudius, nicknamed Beckendorf for a reason unknown to the much younger Leo, exclaimed, opening his arms and enveloping his half-brother in a hug as if he hadn’t seen him the previous day, “What a marvellous morning, don’t you think so, brother?” he asked, voice booming.

Beckendorf was what Leo always desired to be – tall, with the perfect muscular physique and sparkling eyes. He was the epitome of a warrior and dwarfed Leo standing next to him, who was small and slight, and oft compared to a girl. Beckendorf was what Leo’s father desperately wanted his full-blooded son to be since the giant was merely his bastard and unable to become the next Roman Emperor due to his dark complexion and his mother’s status as a slave. Leo was sure if he was the Emperor’s son then his father wouldn’t have been disappointed, the way he was with Leo.

“It’s just a morning, Beck, no need to have an orgasm over it,” the smaller boy teased, hiding his dejection behind hurt and earning himself a rumbling laugh from his brother. Leo’s only sister ducked beneath the man’s arm and stood next to him, grinning at Leo.

“Watch your mouth around father, Leo,” she said.

Out of his numerous siblings Leo felt the most attached to the girl since she, just like himself, was a kind of bitter welt on their father’s skin. Unlike the other Roman girls Nyssa was not beautiful or feminine or delicate or talented, at least not in the conventional way. Her skin was tanned by too much time in the sun, and her hands calloused from horse-riding and training secretly in the yard. Her jaw was too square, her shoulders too broad, her hair too dark and unkept. Emperor Hephaestus oft complained how she was too muscular and tall to be considered desirable by any suitors, and asked the Gods why they couldn’t have blessed Leo with some of her features since the boy was slimmer and shorter even than his sister. The rejection of their father made the two youngest siblings band together and Leo was glad she was coming with him today, for he didn’t know how he would manage without her.

Beckendorf and Nyssa were shoved to the side by Leo’s other brothers. They all looked like typical Roman Prince’s ought to – high cheekbones, light eyes, chestnut hair, muscular and tall and healthy and fit.

“How’s our little brother feeling?” Jacob, the second eldest brother and due as the next emperor, asked cheerfully, slinging his arm around Leo’s slim shoulders.

“Queasy?” Severianus asked, ducking down to peer at Leo’s face.

“Oh fuck off, Shane,” Leo rolled his eyes, trying to treat the implication of that one words as a joke and not as a cruel remark. His brothers laughed and poked at him playfully and Leo just wasn’t in the mood for this kind of amusement.

“Oh leave the boy alone,” Beckendorf said, crossing his arms over his chest, “You know he hates Gladiator fights.”

“It’s just a bit of fun,” Christoforo said, also wrapping Leo up with his arm, meaning the small boy was captured between his two older brothers.

“Well, we best go,” Nyssa shifted her light and airy _stola_ looking unnatural on the girl who usually dressed similarly to her brothers. She looked like she was drowning in the shawl draped over her shoulders and Leo was a little glad that someone was feeling the same amount of discomfort as he was.

He allowed his siblings to drag him through the light corridors of their palace, animatedly talking among themselves about the upcoming event, excited out of their skin. They were all looking forward to placing bets on which Gladiator would win and which would lose, and Nyssa went into a long ramble about the worst way she had ever seen a Gladiator die. Leo tuned them out, feeling nauseous.

He had always managed to avoid Gladiator fights ever since as a little boy he fainted when taken to his first one. He offered his father excuses – he was busy with his studies, he was seeing his friends, he was down at the marketplace or, his favourite, he was busy with his new inventions. Leo loved creating things and machines out of bits of metal and bronze, yet his father thought his hobby useless and unsuited for a Prince. That’s why he had finally put his foot down and was forcing Leo to come to the fight today.

The boy knew he wouldn’t fare well – the mere sight of blood made him sick and he hated violence. Growing up among boys much bigger than him left him constantly pushed and prodded, shoved out of the way by accident, always crushed against walls and by crowds, always bruised and battered. He hated how tiny he was as much as his father did but there was just nothing he could do about it. No amount of half-hearted training from his father’s men and Leo’s own brothers stopped him from flinching whenever a weapon was pointed at him.

He became distracted from his grim future when his siblings stopped to drink some wine and pick at some grapes. The day was already warm and dry as the sun approached midday and the cool liquid helped to soother Leo’s parched throat and make the heat easier to bare. The siblings took two chariots down from the palace to the coliseum, talking and laughing and relaxing, four ivory horses pulling each golden chariot along the sandy, dirt roads.

It didn’t directly hit Leo what he was about to witness until the coliseum came into view, towering and golden, glimmering in the sun, its hundreds of windows like gaping mouths. It was the sound that made him sick though – the sound of thousands of cheers and shouts as the common people streamed into the building like ants into an anthill. Leo squeezed his eyes shut against the wind brushing at his face and his fingers tightened at the rim of the chariot as he tried to get a hold of himself. _It’s just blood,_ he told himself, _it’s what’s keeping me alive. And it’s just death, everybody dies._ Just not in these horrible traps, forced to fight until there was a stack of bodies being wheeled out. Leo exhaled and opened his eyes. He couldn’t show weakness when meeting with his father – he was a big enough disappointment as it was. It was just impossible for him to support forcing people to fight to the death for entertainment. If he were Emperor he would’ve abolished the practice but as it was he was fourth in line and the likelihood of all of his legitimate brothers dying was unlikely...not that Leo would ever want that to happen. He would be a horrible Emperor.

Leo was sure he blacked out for parts of the walk to the coliseum – he found himself so deep in the determination to not turn and run that he forgot where he was going, allowing his siblings to lead him. He was brought back to reality violently when the roar of the crowd became deafening suddenly and when he looked up he found that he was already in the balcony, halfway up the coliseum. All around him were benches, stretched out around the circular building, filled to the brim with peasant people, cheering. This was their only way of entertainment, the only break from their tedious lives. The ceiling was open, the overpowering heat of the sun pouring down on the people.

The balcony was large and reserved only for the Emperor and his family. The chairs here were wooden, finished with plush velvet. Slave girls stood in the corners, holding pitchers of chilled wine and there were several tables laden with cheese and bread and fruit. _As if I could eat while watching a slaughter,_ Leo thought distractedly.

“Children,” Emperor Hephaestus sat in his seat already and didn’t bother to get up, inclining his head towards the siblings coolly. He had never been an affectionate man and now age made him even more bitter, his dark hair streaked with grey. At his side sat his very beautiful, very young and very bored-looking wife, Aphrodite, his third wife, who gave her husband and his children a vague look of disgust before turning back to the for-now-empty arena.

“ _Ave,_ father,” the siblings all the said in unison, hurriedly taking their seats. Leo perched on the edge, his arm pressed into the stone railing of the balcony. Jacob and Beckendorf were by the refreshments, eating and laughing, but Leo couldn’t share their merriment. His trembling hands were clasped in his lap and he was aware that his face had probably gone pale. Every second he spent here made him more afraid. Thankfully his father made no attempt to speak to him – Leo was his youngest, least loved son, and this was one of the few times that the boy was glad for it. He pulled a few pieces of thin metal from his shoe and started anxiously twisting it together in the folds of his toga, trying to relax.

He maybe would’ve managed to do that if the crowd didn’t suddenly erupt in excitement, people jerking out of their feet and cheering wildly as a procession entered the arena; the Lictors at the front carrying the fasces and an axe to symbolise the power over death and life that the Emperor would have today. Behind them came a band of trumpeters, their loud, unnaturally cheerful music almost drowned out by the crowd, and then a man carrying a palm branch.

“What’s the branch for?” Leo leaned into Nyssa to try and distract himself from the upcoming battle.

“It’s used to honour the victors,” there was obvious excitement in her voice and she was leaning forward, eyes focused on the procession and not on her brother, “Look! There’s the Gladiators!” she said and started clapping wildly with the rest of the audience, the sound deafening.

Leo looked at the men on the end of the procession – they were tanned and ridiculously muscled, their naked torsos littered with scars. They were far and so Leo couldn’t see their faces clearly but he could see clearly that some were more excited than others, waving and shouting at the audience, getting the people even more excited. A comedy fight ensued with the crowd roaring with laughter as men ran around the stage, performing the famous story of Remus and Romulus, hitting each other with blunt swords and although Leo didn’t find it particularly amusing it lulled him into a state where he thought he might actually get through this alright. He was aware of his father’s eyes sliding to him every so often, as if he were checking that his son was still present and not hiding from the arena.

The boy stood and walked over to one of the tables, grasping a goblet and calling one of the servant girls to pour him some wine. As the golden goblet filled with crimson the boy’s hands started to shake and he was ashamed, since he was sure the girl had noticed. Hastily the boy then returned to his seat, clutching at his cup now and looking right ahead. He sipped at the wine ever so often, and despite it being cool overall it made him warmer in the summer heat until he wanted to strip naked in the balcony. Aphrodite called for servants to fan her but none of the breeze reached Leo, who sat on the opposite end. _This is good, focus on the heat instead of the killing._ But what if it started to smell? Bodies decayed faster in the heat...just the thought of that made Leo gag, which he hid by hurriedly drinking more of his wine. 

The group of performers bowed as the band of trumpeters blasted their instruments and the crowd cheered and as the group exited the arena, Leo’s stomach fell. He knew what came next and it made him physically sick. Only his father’s firm eyes on him made him remain rooted in his seat.

The first two men that entered the arena were very young, younger than Leo, and pale. Even from a distance Leo could see the fear in both of their eyes as they held their swords limply at their sides, obviously stunned by the noise of the arena. People were clearly unimpressed by their physiques and they shouted and jeered and spat at the ground.

“Who wants to watch the pups fight?” Nyssa snorted.

“Give us the real men!” Christoforo bellowed but his voice was lost in the crowd. Jacob laughed and Aphrodite shook her head in distain but even her eyes were hungrily fixated on the Gladiators.

The match between the two began. The young men circled each other slowly, and it was clear that they were scared to strike out. The crowd screamed obscenities at them, demanding their entertainment. Leo’s heart twisted for the Gladiators and how afraid he must’ve been. Finally, urged by the guards, one of the Gladiators jerked out and swung at the other with his sword. A clumsy fight ensured with both of the boys trying to keep as much distance between each other as possible but soon the referee pushed them to self preservation and they started to hack at each other viciously, which the crowd welcomed with a cheer. Leo honestly didn’t understand how this could be considered entertainment.

One of the boys stumbled and fell, so suddenly that it shocked Leo. The young Gladiator’s sword skittered across the sandy pit and he lifted his hand in surrender, but the other boy was either too scared to see or too determined to win because he swung the sword anyway. The first Gladiator’s hand came off at the wrist when the blade sliced through it, falling a few meters away, and the boy screamed in pain as blood spurted over the sand.

Leo’s world tilted sideways and he didn’t see exactly the moment when the first Gladiator killed the second, only heard the horrible, ear-piercing scream cut off and the audience cheer. Leo was going to be sick, he was sure of it, and he clutched his goblet fiercely in his hands, looking right ahead but not seeing.

“Leo?” Nyssa whispered next to him, her voice worried.

“More wine,” Leo said, shocked his voice didn’t shake, and when the servant girl poured the liquid into the cup he had something to concentrate on instead of the limp body being dragged from the pit and a murderer being crowned victor. Still, the wine looked too much like blood for his taste.

That wasn’t the end – of course it wasn’t. Another pair of Gladiators came onto the pit, this time older and clearly more experienced. The audience welcomed them with a howl of pleasure and both the fighters waved at them, not even sparing the blood soaked sand at their feet a second glance. Leo’s vision cleared by then and some of his nausea passed so he could concentrate on the appearance of the men instead of the red stain on the sand.

One of them was shorter and slimmer, though he could be by no means considered small. His skin was bronze and his long black hair twisted into a braid down his naked back, and in each hand he held a sword, meaning he was a Dimachaerus. His opponent appeared as a small mountain, with a bald head and armed heavily. He carried a long, rectangular shield, a plumed helmet and a short sword, with a greave strapped to his leg – a Samnite. Leo thought it was clear who would win – the Samnite had the weight and weapon advantage over the Dimachaerus however as the battle began the odds shifted. The Dimachaerus proved fast with quick reflexes and dodged the majority of the Samnite’s attacks, which infuriated his large opponent and made the crowd go wild. Even Leo found himself leaning forward, captured by the graceful fighting of the two Gladiators. The Dimachaerus did more damaged that the Samnite, elegantly slashing his short swords at the exposed body of the Samnite, who bled profusely and roared in rage when the smaller fighter whirled out of his way.

Finally the Dimachaerus grew tired of toying with his opponent and entertaining the crowd – in a swift motion he leapt up and slashed the Samnite’s throat, and the mountain fell into the sand like a sack of potatoes. Leo felt his stomach twist but this death wasn’t as bad as the mutilation of the previous boy, though he still found it hard to watch the man’s corpse get dragged behind the iron grates keeping back the other Gladiators.

The next pair of Gladiators looked more evenly matched in the bodily category – they were both tall and muscular, their golden skins gleaming in the sun. One of them had dark blond hair and a scar over the side of his face. As a Scissor he held a short sword with two blades on it.

“He’s going to try and catch his opponents weapon between the blades,” Nyssa supplied helpfully, her sparkling eyes fixated on the men. Leo nodded, swallowed, and asked for more wine. It was definitely helping him get through this.

The other man was another Dimachaerus but unlike his predecessor he was much larger. From a distance Leo couldn’t see much except his short cropped black hair and oriental features. When the referee raised his hand and initiated the fight, Leo couldn’t help but lean forward once more. He quickly became enamoured by the graceful fighting way of the two Gladiators, who were both so skilled that it took long minutes before first blood was even shed.

Leo’s eyes were automatically drawn to the Dimachaerus whose two swords disappeared at times due to how fast he was swinging them. Despite his large scale he moved lightly, as if he could fly, whirling around his opponent. Their weapons clashed together but the sound of steel on steel was drowned out by the ear-splitting clamour from the over-excited crowd. Leo could see why people enjoyed this slightly, he just wished it didn’t have to end in gory deaths all the time. Still, the two current Gladiators made it all look like an art form, and it almost looked rehearsed...

Until the Scissor caught one of the Dimachaerus’ sword between the blades of his own weapon and yanked it violently from his hand, throwing it across the arena. The coliseum gasped collectively and Leo’s heart stuttered. He desperately didn’t want the Dimachaerus to lose the fight and subconsciously the boy was rooting for him...which meant he also hoped for the death of the Scissor.

The Dimachaerus didn’t even flinch and his attacks became more vicious; he used his remaining sword like an object of killing, beating his opponent back with brutal hits that the man’s double sword had no chance of keeping up with. Just as it was beginning to look like the Scissor was tiring of parrying the other man’s attacks, the Dimachaerus’ leg jerked out and he kicked the Scissor’s feet from underneath him, kicking up sand when the man landed on the ground. The Gladiator kicked his opponent’s weapon from his hand and pointed his remaining sword at his throat while the referee shouted something and the crowd screamed at the Dimachaerus to kill the Scissor. Leo leaned back, unable to witness such a good fight come to such a heartbreaking end.

But it was up to Leo’s father to decide whether or not the Scissor would die. The man rose, face impassive, ignoring the scream of the crowd.

“Thumbs down, father,” Jake said excitedly and Chris backed him.

“Let him live, it was a good fight,” Shane interrupted.

“Yes, let him live,” Leo said, too eagerly. His father’s eyes snapped to him coldly, and narrowed. Slowly, his eyes locked on his youngest son, his lifted his hand. Thumb down.

Leo didn’t look as the Dimachaerus ended the Scissor’s life, though the man died quietly. Leo jerked to his feet, trying to keep his anger at bay – his father had purposefully done that, simply because his son had asked him to spare the man’s life. Without looking at his family the boy turned to the stairs leading down from the Coliseum and practically run off, hurt and upset. He felt he had caused the man’s death, simply by not keeping his mouth shut.

“Foolish, foolish,” he told himself as he descended, losing momentum as he went. He didn’t know how long the fights would continue for but he didn’t want to return to the palace alone – he’d have to wait for his disappointed siblings.

And he wanted to wait for someone else too.

***

Frank came out into the deserted arena and exhaled. The sky was streaked with pink as the sun began to set but it’d still be at least an hour before full dark. Frank felt the sweat dry on his skin alongside the blood and he gloomily looked at the sandy arena, stained with the blood of the dead. If Frank was religious he would’ve prayed, but as he wasn’t all he did was stare at the ground. This was the only moment of peace he would get for a while – soon the still alive Gladiators would be ushered back to their cells and after that...who knew? Frank wondered if he’d be sold to another master again. Not that it matter, whatever happened he would always end up doing the same thing; training, fighting, hoping not to die.

He closed his eyes and remembered all the intense emotions he felt while he fought, how his blood has sang, how alive he felt. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy killing but when he was in a fight it was as if he became somebody else; his vision grew red and he was pushed on simply by his need to survive, his body moving on its own accord. He became one with his weapon and when he came back to himself and looked down at the bodies that he had rid of life he always felt ashamed.

He felt that now too, though he knew it wasn’t his fault that he was forced to fight here... _but it is my choice whether I kill,_ he thought bitterly. He could avoid it by just dying, but no matter how many times Frank had accepted death when he was in this arena the only thing he wanted was to _live._

“Hello.”

The voice sliced through Frank’s tranquil self-hatred like a knife and the man whirled around, tense. He was prepared to see a master or one of the other Gladiators, or someone wanting to look at him like a piece of meat before buying him, but instead he found...one of the sons of the Emperor, just standing there. His status was clear by the golden threading of his tunic and his expensive belt.

He was tiny, and he looked only a summer or two younger than Frank, though they were clearly polar opposites. The boy was looking at the Gladiator with awe, his brown eyes big, arms behind his back. Frank didn’t need children bothering him right now,

“What do you want?” he barked. The boy’s expression fell.

“I...I just wanted...they told me you were the Dimachaerus who fought earlier,” he cleared his throat and brought his arms forward, lacing them over his narrow chest. His arms were only slightly bigger than Frank’s wrist and the man felt his irritation spike. He could snap the boy’s slim neck in the blink of an eye if he wanted, “I wanted to tell you that I like the way you fight, that’s all.”

“You mean you like the way I murder people for sport?” Frank snorted humourlessly. The Prince shifted anxiously,

“No. I...actually I hate Gladiator fighting. But I thought-“

“Do you need something?” Frank interrupted, just wanting to rid himself of this boy.

The Prince’s eyes narrowed, “Are you always this rude or only when addressing someone of a higher rank?” he asked. His tone made Frank’s blood boil.

“Only when addressing children,” he growled, glaring heatedly at the boy, whose mouth fell open in shock.

“I am _not_ a child!” he exclaimed, blood rushing to his tanned cheeks, “I’m probably older than you!”

“You _look_ like a child,” Frank snorted, just wanted to get back at the infuriating Prince, “or like a girl, you shouldn’t even be in this arena.”

The small boy approached Frank, too close, anger radiating off him. He was clearly trying to be intimidating but that was lost since he barely reached Frank’s shoulder. His jaw was clenched but Frank had to admit he was brave, approaching a Gladiator like that.

“I could have your head on a spike,” the boy growled. Frank raised an eyebrow and looked down at him, feeling amused as well as irritated now.

“I could crush that little head of yours,” Frank growled right back, “Now get out of here, little boy.”

He was thinking the boy would slap him for his insolence, expected it almost. Instead the Prince stood back, his eyes still burning with anger, his small hands clenched into fists at his sides. He turned on his heel briskly and stormed out of the arena as if he suddenly grew wings. Smirking, Frank crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the beautiful sky, pleased that he had won the argument. It was a minor victory and yet it filled him with bigger excitement than the victory in the arena.

“Slave,” another voice, this time a bark, interrupted Frank’s moment alone, however the authority in it made the man turn around slowly, cautiously.

The Emperor himself stood a few feet away a look of vague distain on his face, a servant few paces behind him, his head bowed but a sword at his waist – the Emperor had brought protection with him as if he thought that Frank was some savage that would attack anything with a beating heart. That itself was an insult but the way the man addressed Frank was even more so. Yet the Gladiator had no choice but to show his respect so he bowed in front of the Emperor and through gritted teeth uttered,

“Your Imperial Majesty.”

“My son seems to have taken a form of interest in you,” he said and the little rascal that had bothered Frank moments ago returned to his mind. It was interesting to think that that boy was the son of this man here – tall, large, powerful. And yet that was the unfortunate truth. Frank could’ve laughed if that didn’t mean his head ended up on a spike.

“I think he just enjoyed the show, my Lord,” he said instead, choosing his words carefully. The Emperor let out a bemused laugh and looked around the arena.

“That is not so, see my youngest son isn’t awfully fond of violence or blood or anything manly of the sort,” the Emperor coughed into his hand, for a moment his age showing – he was an old man, and undoubtedly he didn’t have much time left in this world. But when he put his hands behind his back in the same manner his son had before his power was clear, “that is why it seems to me so interesting that he would come here after, as if he had seen a God himself,” he laughed at that. Frank wasn’t amused, “he was incredibly impressed, as was I, I must admit.”

“Thank you my Lord,” Frank said coolly, “You’re too kind.”

“Mhm, yes,” The Emperor averted his gaze to look at the coliseum, darkened by shadows, “He had never taken as much interest in any of his training masters,” he elapsed into silence as if awaiting some sort of response from Frank, who frowned.

 “I don’t understand what you are suggesting, your majesty.”

“I want you to train him,” the Emperor turned around abruptly, his words blunt all of a sudden, “I cannot have my youngest son shame the family any further. His physique deems him useless and yet I think that someone – someone like you – could make a true warrior out of him.”

“My Lord I don’t believe I am suitable-,” Frank started weakly. He couldn’t imagine dealing with that little bastard again, and to _train_ him?! That seemed an impossible task.

“You are suitable enough,” the Emperor interrupted briskly, “but of course I don’t come here empty handed and I don’t intent to threaten you into accepting my offer either. Gods know it could end with my son dead at your hands, though I suppose that would solve some problems...,” Frank couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for that boy then, who had a father who wouldn’t even mourn his death, or rather would even be relieved by it, “nevertheless I have a proposition for you – if you train my son and he becomes successful in combat, I will pay for your freedom.”

Frank stared at him for what seemed like a very, very long time, his heart pounding suddenly in his chest, making him feel dizzy and unstable. He repeated the Emperor’s words in his head. To be a free man was everything Frank had wanted since he had been ripped from that burning village that plagued his dreams before every match, and now it was being handed to him on a silver platter. It was almost too easy.

“You want me to train your boy, and that’s it?” Frank clarified, waiting for the hidden catch. However there was none, the Emperor simply inclined his head, turning his head to the side and spitting at the sandy ground. His spittle was dotted with blood.

“That is all I ask, and that is the price of your freedom,” he looked at the Gladiator expectantly, but the man was completely shocked and speechless, unable to answer, “well? What is your answer?”

**16 th Junius 192AD (4 days later)**

Leo went out into the Imperial gardens and stretched his limbs over his head as he watched the morning summer sun bathe the beautiful scenery in front of him. The marble fountain in the centre was spurting water and beards took baths in the glimmering liquid while around them the gardens stretched for miles, lush green and smudged with colour from dozens of fragrant flowers.

Leo was in a terrible mood. He allowed his arms to fall to his sides and gloomily glared at the gardens. Despite the fact that the Gladiator ordeal happened days ago his encounter with the Dimachaerus – whose name he found out was Frank – remained imprinted in his head, like a horrible nightmare. Leo had been disregarded, disrespected and verbally abused by members of his family and the court before but _never_ by  a stranger and it shamed him greatly to remember Frank’s words, especially because they were true. _You look like a child, I could crush that little head of yours..._ Leo tugged on his unruly curls in agitation. He wished there was some magical way he could become big and strong and face Frank and his insolence in the arena, and show the man where he belonged. Naturally he could have him executed or arrested but there was no pride in that; it would be as if a child throwing a temper tantrum. Besides, Leo had no wish to bring harm to another human being, no matter how cruel.

“My lord,” a servant scuttled to Leo like a mouse, her head bowed, “there is someone in the courtyard to speak to you.”

“Who is it?” Leo blinked. The servant didn’t look up,

“A man, my lord. He says your father sent him.”

Leo got a bad feeling in his stomach as he thanked the servant and hurried back inside the Imperial Palace, wondering what kind of harrowing trick his father was going to play on him this time. The corridors of the palace were cool and shadowed, but the courtyard was warmer than the gardens since here everything was brick, radiating the heat of the sun. Servants hurried past, appearing and disappearing in the numerous arched doorways leading to different parts of the palace, but _he_ immediately drew Leo’s eye.

The boy felt his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched as he crossed his arms over his chest and approached the Gladiator, leaning awkwardly against one of the walls of the palace. Unlike the last time Leo saw him he was fully dressed in a toga and sandals, his exotic but handsome features unmarred by blood and sweat.

“I hope you’re here to apologise,” Leo said bluntly, coming to a stop in front of the man. In turn the Gladiator looked at him as if he were mud on his shoe.

“I am not, sorry to disappoint,” he said dryly, “Your father asked me to train you.”

“What?” that came as a shock to Leo and he let down his guard for a second, arms falling free to his sides. He quickly regained his composure though, deciding to leave the questions for his father and not embarrass himself in front of this man again, “He must’ve been jesting, I don’t need a Gladiator to train me.”

“Honestly I said the same,” the man replied coolly, “I doubt even myself could help someone as helpless as _you.”_

Leo gaped at his insolence, “How _dare_ you?!”

“Your father said I can use any means necessary to motivate you,” Frank shrugged, “So these are the means I will use, Prince _Leo.”_

The boy felt himself blushing red in anger and frustration, “I won’t be taking any orders or teaching from the likes of a slave.”

“A slave who will soon become a freedman,” Frank replied, measured, but there was some kind of linger of hope in his voice.

“Ah, so that is what my father offered you in exchange,” Leo said, and there was no bite in his words as he suddenly understood the context of the situation. If he turned the Gladiator down then undoubtedly his father would revoke his promise and Frank would remain a slave forever. _Why should I care?_ Leo questioned, but of course his heart was too soft for his own good and he wanted to help the man in front of him in his quest for freedom, no matter how rude and insulting he was, “Fine,” Leo said coldly, “When do we start?”

Frank pushed himself off the wall, clearly pleased at Leo’s acceptance of the situation, “Upon the morn I will meet you by Lake Albano and there we can begin our training.”

“Lake Albano?!” Leo demanded, “But that is _far._ Can’t we begin our training here? Or on the Tiber?”

“I said Lake Albano, little boy, follow my instructions or you’ll always be as weak as you are now,” as if to prove his point he shoved at Leo – it wasn’t even that hard and yet the boy stumbled backwards and almost lost his balance. Frank was a lot bigger and his sheer strength was enough to make the Prince’s blood boil. It was just so _unfair_ that Frank got to be such an arrogant, strong bastard and Leo was forced to listen to him simply because of the way his body was.

Leo went back into the garden and climbed up a gentle slope to an oak tree, settling beneath its shade. Nyssa was in music lesson, and the boys were training in the yard, but Leo had nothing to do. Normally he would go to the blacksmiths and watch them hammer away on weapons, occasionally helping and gathering scrap material for his own projects, or he would sit in his room and draw up plans for mechanisms to build. But ever since the Gladiator fight he had been too distracted and unfocused to do either, instead finding himself sitting down and staring into space, wondering how to get revenge on Frank.

_Maybe I can push him into the lake,_ Leo thought darkly.

**17 th Junius 192AD (The next day)**

Leo jerked at the reigns around his horse, bringing it to a gentle trot and then to a complete halt when he saw Frank come into view. Honestly the Prince wasn’t sure he would even show. It was early in the morning, the sun barely risen, and the air was chilly as Leo slid off his horse and tied him to a nearby try, allowing him to graze at the grass.

“You’re late,” Frank said, looking unimpressed. Despite the moist, chilled air he wore a sleeveless toga and no cloak over top, almost as if he didn’t feel the cold.

“Did you have something better to do?” Leo asked, a little bitterly. He could see the lake glimmering in the sunshine nearby, just past the sparse trees, “What are we doing here anyway?”

“Running,” Frank said.

“Running,” Leo repeated, bemused, “You dragged me all the way out here to _run?”_

“I need to test your skill,” Frank said simply, arms stretching over his head, “I want to know where our starting point is – how fit you are, how fast. You’re not big so your strength in battle will come from your agility and reflexes.”

That made some sense and so Leo didn’t know how to argue with that. He knew that somehow he had to beat Frank at the end of this, he just didn’t know how yet since right now the Gladiator seemed to have the upper hand. As he led Leo through the trees to the lake’s edge the Prince wondered how badly the man wanted his freedom – would he risk murdering Leo here, where nobody would find his corpse for days?

“Why aren’t you trying to escape?” Leo asked suddenly as they broke through the tree-line, squinting at the sun reflected off the lake bindingly. Frank glanced over his shoulder at the boy.

“What do you mean? I will soon be a freedman.”

“Yes, but you could be one now,” Leo shrugged, “if you started running I wouldn’t try and catch you.”

“Not many people look like me,” Frank said simply, “I’d be caught before I even made it to the next town over. And don’t worry,” he turned back to the water, “even if you tried to catch me I doubt you’d have any luck.”

Leo felt his anger begin to rise – Frank made unnecessary comments simply to get under his skin and it was irritating. Frustrated, the boy pulled off his cloak and hung it off the nearby tree, remaining in just his toga and sandals like Frank, but where the Gladiator’s clothes were made from rough, cheap, undyed wool, Leo’s were silky and soft. He looked at the bigger man expectantly, arms crossed over his chest in defence.

“Well?” he prompted, “What now?”

“Run,” Frank said simply, turned on his heel and took off down the dusty bank of the lake. Leo gaped at him but quickly regained his composure and raced after the man, his sandals kicking up dust as he went.

Frank kept a steady pace as he ran, the muscles in his back rippling with each step, and yet every time Leo sped up in an attempt to catch up with him the man would also increase his pace, always remaining ahead, taunting Leo. The air grew hotter around Leo though he knew that was simply because of the exercise – he ran fast but his legs were shorter than Frank’s and it was hard for him to keep up. Dust got into his eyes every few seconds and the sun seemed to beat down on him until his skin glimmered with sweat. In the matter of a few minutes of intense running and trying to catch Frank, Leo’s lungs burned and the muscles in his legs ached. He was breathing hard, and every time he looked up at Frank ahead of him the man didn’t seem fatigued at all, which only worked to spike Leo’s irritation. Was there nothing the Gladiator _couldn’t_ do except be a decent human being?

Finally it became too much and Leo thought if he ran for any longer he might actually die. His limbs felt like lead and he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the side of the road or throw himself into the lake.

“F-Frank!” he called ahead, “Stop!”

His legs dragged clumsily as he came to a halt, bending over and placing his hands on his knees as he gasped for air, feeling light-headed and unstable. Leo usually ran around a lot – up stairs, down corridors, through the gardens to get someone or something. But he also took the chariot or a horse everywhere and this little exercise made him realise how slow and weak he really was, which only succeeded in making him feel worse that he already did.

“Is that it?” Leo heard Frank approach him by the scuffle of sandals on the road. He closed his eyes, not wanting to hear the other man’s insults.

“Yes,” Leo was still breathless but he straightened up, not wanting to look more pathetic that he already did, “We ran for ages.”

Frank, face impassive, pointed behind Leo’s shoulder and when the boy turned he saw, on the curve of the lake, his horse grazing at the grass. He was just a brown smudge against the green and yet Leo’s heart plummeted – he had thought he ran much farther than that. It had surely felt like it.

“This lake is huge, it’s impossible to run around all of it,” Leo said, looking at the opposite bank, which seemed too far away.

“The lake is only three miles,” Frank said, unimpressed, “I could run it on my worst day.”

“Well you’re a trained Gladiator!” Leo snapped, “I’m sorry not everyone looks like a God and can run without getting tired, some of us are human.”

Something flickered in Frank’s dark eyes, like uncertainty, but disappeared just as fast, “Do better,” he said simply. Leo turned around in a circle in frustration and exhaled.

“What do you mean _do better?”_ he snapped, feeling like he was going to burst into tears with how _infuriating_ Frank was, “I’m trying my best!”

“Well it’s not good enough!” now Frank was getting angry too, his eyes glaring at Leo, voice rising in intensity. Leo tried not to think about how the Gladiator could crush him like a bug if he so wished, “what happens if the Romans go to war and you have to become a soldier and defend your city?”

 “I think I’d be the last person asked to go to war,” Leo said humourlessly, kicking at a stone on the path, the sweat drying on his skin. He just wanted to return to the palace at this point, tired of Frank’s offending words.

“Why? You’re not any less of a man that the rest of us, you have a duty.”

Leo’s heart skipped a beat then and he looked at Frank in genuine shock. For the majority of his life he had been told that he was a lesser man because he was unable to handle the sight of blood and because he was too small, and the words the Gladiator had just said – despite being meant as an insult – brought a smile to Leo’s face. _You’re not any less of a man..._

“What are you grinning about?” Frank demanded, clearly caught off guard by the sudden change of Leo’s posture.

“Nothing,” the boy shrugged, “Let’s continue on. You’re right, the lake isn’t even that big.”

***

The Prince was pushing himself and even Frank could see that. He glanced over his shoulder for the countless time, and saw the boy struggling to keep up, his face red, eyes downcast, mouth open as he panted for breath. It irked Frank that the boy was so stubborn and driven – if he had just given up the first time he stopped then the Gladiator could’ve added _unmotivated_ to the long list of bad adjectives to describe the boy already piling up like _annoying, cowardly_ and _loud._ But alas he had to admit that the boy was determined, even though he looked ready to collapse not one complaint left his mouth.

Frank himself was getting a little tired but the ache in his muscles was familiar and welcome. If this was the price for his freedom then he was more than happy to pay it; his only worry was that he wouldn’t be able to transform the boy behind him into something his father wanted. It seemed like a task too large. Frank, who was used to living and training with men as big as him couldn’t help but think that Leo was delicate and fragile. The Gladiator couldn’t imagine fighting with him – the boy would fold like parchment if he so much as pushed him, he was sure of it.

“Ah!”

The sudden cry of pain made Frank stop in his tracks and whirl around. His heart lodged in his throat when he saw that Leo was lying in a heap on the ground, face twisted in pain. _I’m going to be executed for this,_ the Gladiator thought, jogging over to the boy.

“What happened?” he demanded, voice rough.

“I just stepped on a stone, it’s fine,” Leo said quickly, out of breath and flushed. Frank saw the blood spilling from his sandal first.

“Must’ve been a sharp stone,” he said. Leo’s eyes followed his and his face blanched when he saw the crimson spilling onto the ground.

“Oh no,” he murmured and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Here, let me look at it,” Frank squatted next to him and reached for his foot but Leo’s hand shot out and he pushed at his chest.

“No!” he blurted, “Don’t take it off, I don’t want to see it!” he looked like he was going to vomit. Frank frowned.

“It’s just blood.”

The smaller boy’s lower lip trembled and Frank wondered if he was going to cry. There was something pleading in his brown eyes and it made Frank take pity on him – the boy was clearly disgusted by the sight of blood and Frank bullying him about it right now wasn’t going to help the situation. The Gladiator let out a soft sigh, “Let’s go down to the lake.”

“I can’t w-walk,” Leo’s eyes were still shut, his breathing shallow, “I-I...I can feel it on m-my foot...”

“Just hold onto me,” Frank tried to be as crisp and professional as possible as he slid an arm beneath Leo’s knees, his other one coming up to wrap around the boy’s back. He hoisted the Prince into his arms and stood up easily – the boy weighed little and it was almost like carrying a girl. Blood dripped from his foot in small drops to the ground but he didn’t see as he buried his face in the rough fabric of Frank’s toga. The Gladiator wasn’t used to much physical touch like this but now Leo was giving him all the affection he could ever need, pressing himself impossibly close to Frank as if trying to get away from his cut, his arms looped around the bigger man’s neck, the fact they hated each other clearly forgotten. He whimpered softly and Frank couldn’t help but try and be as gentle as he could in order not to injure the boy further as he carried him off the path and to the water’s edge.

Carefully he set Leo down on the ground, straightening the boy’s legs out, “I’m going to take your sandal off, alright?” Frank asked and Leo fiercely shook his head, mouth and eyes clamped shut, “It’s fine, it won’t bleed, just put your foot in the lake and it’ll make it stop.”

Leo didn’t say anything so Frank assumed he was allowed to proceed. Carefully he took the boy’s foot in his hands – it was small like the rest of him – and unlaced his sandal. The boy’s breathing grew more laboured when Frank lifted his foot, searching for the cut. He found it on the sole of the boy’s foot and although not deep it bled profusely, staining his skin. The lake lapped at Frank’s own sandals so he gently lowered Leo’s foot into the water. The boy jerked at the temperature change but didn’t say anything, his hands twisted into his own tunic and gripping tightly.

“It’s alright, it’s not bleeding anymore,” Frank lied. Leo nodded but the Gladiator honestly doubted he could hear him. It was like dealing with a child. Frank, who had been exposed to violence all his life, couldn’t understand how someone could be so impacted by the sight of blood.

“Just get r-rid of the foot,” Leo whispered and there was a sudden faint, pale smile on his face though his eyes remained closed.

“Then it’ll just bleed more, idiot,” Frank said. Leo let out a little giggle and sniffled, clearly trying to keep his tears at bay. Frank smiled despite himself at the boy’s humour and reached for the bottom of his own tunic. He carefully ripped a strip off from the bottom – it didn’t matter since he could buy a new one with the money the Emperor would give him. In moments he had pulled Leo’s foot from the water and wrapped it up in a makeshift bandage. He even went as far as washing the boy’s sandal clean of blood, though Frank himself wasn’t sure why he cared.

“It’s really not bleeding anymore,” he told Leo. The boy cracked his eyes open and sat up shakily, looking at his bandaged foot. He swallowed and wriggled his little toes, nodding and exhaling.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat, “Thank you.”

“Can you stand?” Frank asked, because if he didn’t get the Prince back to the Palace soon he was sure his head wouldn’t be attached to his shoulders any longer. Leo bit his lip but nodded and Frank helped to pull him to his feet.  However the moment the boy attempted to stand he winced and despite trying to hide it, Frank could tell that he was in pain, “You can’t walk, can you?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Leo protested, but he gripped Frank’s bicep in order to remain upright. As if to prove that point he attempted to take a step forward, which only succeeded in his legs almost buckling.

“I’m going to carry you back,” Frank said, hoping his tone left no room for argument. Naturally it did to Leo.

“Don’t treat me like a child,” he grumbled.

“You _are_ a child.”

“I’m seventeen summers old,” Leo growled. Frank rolled his eyes and didn’t wait for more protested from the Prince as he slipped an arm across his back and pulled him into his arms. Leo let out a surprised noise, his hands flailing, but Frank held him tightly, ensuring the boy didn’t fall. He put his other arm beneath the boy’s knees and held him against his chest, beginning to walk immediately, “You’re such an arse,” Leo grumbled, puffing out his cheeks as he was forced to admit defeat – even he could see that it was impossible for him to walk all the way back with an injured foot. He felt tense and awkward in Frank’s arms, “You can’t carry me all the way to the horse,” he said insolently. His curls tickled Frank’s jaw but the man made a point of not looking down at the Prince.

“Well you can’t carry yourself and someone has to do it,” he grumbled. Leo crossed his arms over his chest,

“Why did you agree to this if you clearly hate me?” he asked.

“I want my freedom,” Frank said. Leo was light in his arms and the Gladiator honestly contemplated dropping him to teach him a lesson. The walk was actually quite pleasant – the sun was beating down but the trees overhead and the cool breeze sweeping from the lake were enough to make the heat of the summer’s day bearable.

“We both know this won’t work,” Leo said, surprisingly quiet and sad, “No matter how hard you push me and how infuriating you are, turning me into a warrior is impossible.”

“You have to believe in yourself, because nobody else will,” Frank said, and his arms tightened subconsciously around the boy. Leo didn’t say anything more, but the longer he remained against Frank’s chest the more relaxed he got, almost melting into the man. Frank tried not to focus too much on the boy’s body heat.

**20 th Junius 192AD (3 days later)**

Leo’s foot stopped hurting after a few days and he could finally go about his day without being conscious of the cut on his foot. He honestly didn’t think he would ever see Frank again, not after how pathetic he had been three days ago. But the Gladiator had moved into one of the servant quarters in the Palace so Leo often saw him across the courtyard though he did his best to avoid him. Frank might’ve gotten kinder to him and carried him for miles to his horse but he was still an arse.

In order to avoid encountering the Gladiator, Leo remained confined to his bedroom. Currently he sat on the floor, building a horse mechanism from bits of metal and wire. Outside the sky was amber and night was falling. Leo contemplated going to bed without supper tonight, simply because he didn’t wish to see his father and face his disappointment. Frank would’ve surely told him about the incident at the lake.

“Leo?” the call came from the corridor and pulled the Prince from his world of mathematical calculations and design.

“Come in!” he called back, voice echoing across his large bedroom. The door slid open and Nyssa slipped into the room. She was wearing dark leggings and a light toga over top, her unruly hair, so much like Leo’s, pulled from her face.

“Brother,” she smiled, closing the door behind her and walking into the bedroom, “What are you working on?”

“Mechanical horse. Like the Trojan War one,” Leo said, returning to his project, “Maybe I can put a flare inside it and send it to Frank and set his room on fire,” he added darkly.

Nyssa laughed, “Frank? Is that the Gladiator father assigned to train you?” she asked as she walked over to the window, pushing the airy curtains to the side and opening it to let in the evening breeze.

“Yes. He’s the worst,” Leo grumbled, squeezing a piece of wire too hard in his hand so it bent.

“I’m sure he is not that bad,” Nyssa said, perching on the windowsill and looking at the courtyard below. Leo looked at her, unimpressed.

“Oh, he is. He’s horrible. He has no respect and he just points out my flaws like they’re not obvious already,” the words left a bitter taste in Leo’s mouth and he lost all enthusiasm about his project, looking dejectedly at the metal horse.

Nyssa slipped off the windowsill and came over to sit next to her brother on the floor, “You can’t let your insecurities lead your life, Leo.”

“I’m _trying_ not to let them,” the Prince hissed in frustration, running a hand through his curls, “But it’s hard when everyone’s constantly reminding my about them.”

“Well you just have to prove them wrong and show that you’re stronger than what you expect,” Nyssa said firmly, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. Leo looked up and seeing his sister’s eyes, fierce and sparkling, made him feel slightly lighter. He nodded.

“You’re right. I’ll prove them wrong.”

“Good, because actually Frank sent me to get you to come downstairs for training.”

So Leo didn’t end up going to supper. Instead he trailed down the main, spiralling staircase and turned left from the dining room, hearing the excited voices of his siblings spilling out. He crossed the courtyard, which was dark by then, and ducked through an archway to the back yard, where the stables created a kind of ring around a cobbled oval used by Lords and Princes to spar on.

Frank was already waiting – he was shirtless, half of his body lost in the shadows. Overhead the dark had descended, the last of the day’s light a mere smudge on the horizon. Braziers of fire burned around the circle, providing a menacing sort of illumination and Frank looked like a stone statue of a Roman God. In his hand he held a sword – long and deadly looking, though upon further inspection it proved nothing more than wood.

“Good evening,” Leo said, voice guarded, “How lovely for you to grace me with your presence.”

“This isn’t my ideal evening either but with that attitude we won’t get anywhere,” Frank said, eye twitching once as he tried to hide his annoyance. He grabbed something off the floor and threw it at Leo, who scrambled to catch it out of the air. He found himself holding a wooden sword just like Frank’s.

“What do you want me to-,” he started, looking up just in time to see Frank charging at him, a ferocious look on his face. The Prince had time to take half a step back and raise his sword before the Gladiator was bearing down on him, knocking the weapon out of his grip with one swing of his sword.

“So your reflexes are not the greatest,” Frank concluded, returning to his end of the yard, swinging his sword. Leo felt his anger spike – why was Frank like this?! Why couldn’t he give Leo a fighting chance?! “Pick up the sword,” Frank said, turning back to face the boy.

“Can you at least give me a warning next time?” the Prince asked, angrily, reaching for his fallen weapon. It felt awkward and unnatural in his hand and yet the fact that Frank was looking at him with a look of vague murder in his eyes made his heart start to pound and his fingers to tighten on the hilt of the sword.

“You might not get a warning in the real world,” Frank said, but that in itself was a warning so when he charged at Leo this time the boy was slightly more prepared. Frank knocked his weapon against Leo’s, who had time to raise it thought the impact made his arm shake. The boy flinched away from the bigger man, “Hold it with two hands or I’ll break your wrist,” Frank commanded, and he moved around Leo with grace, like a wolf.

The Prince tried to keep his head clear and followed Frank’s instruction, both his hands gripping the sword. He turned with Frank, trying to anticipate the man’s next move but the Gladiator stayed in the shadows, his eyes focused on Leo as if he were his pray. The Prince swallowed anxiously and Frank pounced. No matter how prepared Leo thought he was Frank still had the upper hand and he dashed forward, grabbing Leo’s wrist, the one holding the sword, and digging his own wooden weapon into the boy’s stomach.

“You’re dead,” he said casually, his face inches from Leo’s. The boy shoved him away in frustration.

“This is impossible!”

 “You need to anticipate my moves.”

“How? I don’t even know you!” Leo groaned. His wrist ached where Frank had knocked his weapon out.

“There’s two types of fighters – defence and attack,” as Frank spoke he returned to circling Leo a safe distance away, “the defence will wait for you to make the first move, ready to parry your attack like I’m doing right now. The attack will do the opposite. Defence’s aim is to tire their opponent out-“

Leo dashed forward, because he knew he had to do _something_ and Frank was distracted talking. Or at least so Leo thought – however when he tried to get the sword anywhere near Frank’s body the Gladiator parried him easily. Not only that but he also knocked the boy’s legs from underneath him so Leo landed painfully on his back, the breath knocked out of him.

Frank leaned over him, “That was good.”

“I’m on the floor,” Leo wheezed, “It’s _not_ good.”

“I’ve had years of practice of course I’m going to be better than you,” Frank’s eyes were dark and intense on Leo’s, “But you’ve got it right; you’re smaller, you should attack because it’s easier for you to get past my defences. You can’t stand your ground because it’s too easy for you to get knocked down,” he offered his large hand to Leo and when the Prince took it Frank jerked him to his feet and then tripped him again, so Leo ended up on his stomach, breathless, the tip of the sword digging into the small of his back, “Another rule – don’t trust anyone.”

Leo felt his blood boil at how easily Frank was beating him. He already felt bruises forming on his skin but nonetheless he scrambled for his weapon, determined to wipe Frank’s arrogance away. He rolled over onto his back and went to swipe at Frank’s torso, though he couldn’t quite reach.

“Nice try,” Frank pressed his food on Leo’s chest, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to put him in his place. He dragged his wooden sword down from the boy’s throat all the way to hit stomach, “And you’re dead.”

**25 th Junius 192AD (5 days later)**

Leo’s main aim in that moment was to keep his sword in his hand. Every day for the past week he had sparred in the yard of the palace after everyone else had gone for supper, but the Prince didn’t see it paying off so far. Right now he and Frank were back at Lake Albano, sweating in the sun. Frank was shirtless once more, muscles glimmering, his skin criss-crossed with dozens of scars but despite the heat Leo was too self-conscious about his body so he opted to keep his tunic on, and now the fabric stuck to his sweaty back. The boy was breathless and his arms ached but his mind was focused solely on keeping his weapon in his hands and remaining upright. Frank was working him _hard_ and Leo had long ago lost any hope that the Gladiator would go easy on him, which Leo appreciated to an extent – he wasn’t some fragile thing yet right now it seemed impossible for him to win over Frank in any way. In the past five days he would’ve died a hundred times if they were fighting with real blades.

A curl fell onto Leo’s sweaty forehead and the boy tried to blow it from his eyes. Frank used the moment of distraction to get past the Prince’s barely kept up defence and punched him in the gut. It wasn’t particularly hard but when Leo was so small and Frank was so strong it still hurt. The boy let out a groan as he crumbled to the sandy ground.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, clutching his stomach.

“Get up, you’re dead,” Frank said, dropping his own weapon, “you need to cut your hair or tie it back or it will be a distraction.”

“I doubt my hair has anything to do with how bad I am at this,” Leo sat up and when the Gladiator offered him a hand to pull him up he pointedly ignored it, standing up and brushing dust from his clothes.

“We should go for a swim,” Frank said suddenly, looking out at the lake. Leo had to admit the cold water looked appealing right now. The problem was that the Prince couldn’t swim – not that he’d ever admit yet another weakness to the Gladiator, especially when the man shrugged off his sandals and raced to the lake, not waiting for Leo.

_Just stay in the shallow end,_ Leo told himself as he anxiously approached the green water’s edge. He didn’t take his sandals off, too scared of hurting his feet, and refused to take his tunic off, so he walked into the lake with his clothes still on. The water was cold as it lapped up his bare legs, chilling his overheated skin pleasantly. Frank had swam out into the middle of the lake, diving beneath the gentle waves, as if he were a fish.

Leo was more cautious, watching the water climb past his waist and up his chest. The boy stopped walking any further into the lake, afraid of the depths, and instead pushed himself up, onto his back, so he was spread like a corpse on the water. It was lovely, the feeling of floating on the water and staring up at the pale blue summer sky, the sun dancing on his skin, gentle like a lover’s caress. Leo felt his muscles begin to relax after the intense training he had just experienced. He wasn’t seeing much change in himself except he went to sleep each night in pain, and his skin was decorated in bruises. He needed this, just a moment to _breathe._

Naturally Frank wouldn’t give that to him, because his main aim in life seemed to be to make Leo’s existence miserable. As the Prince floated on the water, completely relaxed and unassuming, the Gladiator swam below him and grasped the boy’s ankle, yanking him down into the depths before the boy could realise what was happening.

The issue was that in his relaxation Leo hadn’t noticed that he had floated across the lake and almost made it to the centre, where it was the deepest, so when Frank pulled him below the waves Leo was completely shocked. The cold water closed over his head like a cage and the darkness surprised him. He lost all sense of direction and Frank’s fingers disappeared from his skin. Leo thrashed around, accidentally sending himself tumbling through the water. He opened his mouth on instinct and chocked – his eyes stung, he couldn’t breathe, he lost all sense of direction the world a watery and disorientating mess. _Gods I’m drowning._

Leo clawed at the dark water desperately trying to get to the surface, his legs jerking uselessly, scraping against rocks. His clothes dragged him down and with every moment that he remained captured by the lake made his lungs burn more and more. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, trying to grasp onto _something_ but there was nothing-

_Frank, Frank, Frank..._

The Gladiator must’ve realised that Leo hadn’t made it back up. The boy didn’t want to die, not here, not because Frank thought it’d be funny to pull him under. When he felt fingers clasp at his wrist relief flooded his heart and in moment he was pulled upwards, his head breaking through the surface.

Leo gasped and glorious air rushed down his throat and into his lung. His head throbbed, he thought he was going to lose consciousness. The sun was a watery splotch against the sky and Frank’s arm, suddenly wrapped around the Prince’s waist, was the only real thing. Leo had no control over his body, trying to get enough air to stay alive. Frank must’ve pulled him closer because Leo felt the warmth of his skin against his and was vaguely aware of his own hands grabbing at the man’s shoulders. Something hard pressed against his back and when Leo’s vision finally cleared and he could breathe slightly easier, he realised where he was.

Frank had swam them over to the opposite side of the lake, where a rock jutted from the mirror surface of the lake. He had pressed Leo against it, keeping the boy above the water between said rock and his own body. He was impossibly close, inappropriately so, and yet in that moment Leo didn’t care.

“Shh, you’re alright,” Frank was murmuring and when Leo looked at him, still half detached from reality, he saw such a deep worry in his eyes that his heart twisted. The Gladiator’s rough hand found Leo’s cheek and he cradled it gently – Leo didn’t understand why the man was touching him like that but in that moment he needed it, because it ensured him that he was still alive. He felt as if there was ice inside his body and he was so _cold,_ shaking, “You’re fine, just look at me, you’re alright Leo.”

“W-Why did you d-do that y-you a-arse?” the Prince croaked out, his throat feeling raw.

“I didn’t know you couldn’t swim,” Frank sounded painfully apologetic, “Just focus on breathing.”

“’m f-fine,” Leo leaned his head back against the rock and closed his eyes, his breathing still laboured. His legs brushed against Frank’s under the water and the Gladiator continued to hold him silently until the Prince’s breath evened out, and then he pulled him back towards the shallows.

Leo was furious even though he knew that Frank hadn’t meant to almost drown him. Still, he continuously went out of his way to shame and embarrass Leo, making him feel the worst he ever had before and enforcing his already strong insecurities. If he had not tried to be unreasonably malicious this situation would’ve never happened. The moment Leo felt his feet touch the shallow end of the lake he pushed Frank’s arm off and angrily stalked up the bank, his soaking clothes clinging to his skinny frame, lips trembling from the cold.

“Leo!” Frank called after him but the boy made straight for his horse, “Leo you need to dry off before getting on the horse or you’ll get sick!”

“Don’t speak to me,” Leo said coldly, untying the reigns of his stallion from a tree, trying not to break down in front of the Gladiator. For once he had the upper hand over Frank but it didn’t make him feel good like he thought it would. He felt useless, horrible, weak. He couldn’t do anything – he couldn’t fight properly or train or swim. Aggravated, and not thinking straight, the small boy swung himself up onto his horse and took off, leaving Frank in the dust. It was a mistake.

**26 th Junius 192AD (The next day)**

The Emperor never spoke to Frank directly following the first time they met in the arena, he had simply given him a room in the Palace – a small but comfortable and clean chamber with a comfortable bed, something the Gladiator was unused to – and sent him instructions about how to deal with his son’s training through various servants. However the night after Frank had almost drowned Leo, the Emperor requested to see Frank personally.

The man was honestly terrified when one of the slave girls walked him through the dark corridors of the palace – she was meek and silent and led Frank down staircase after staircase. The light of her candle threw fantastical shadows on the walls and just succeeded in making Frank’s heart beat faster. He began to grow uncomfortable as they descended further down the palace, the air growing colder and danker. The intricate, marble doors and walls decorated with thick, rich wallpapers gave way to bare stone walls and wooden doors, until Frank found himself in the cells. He was sure that the Emperor would execute him tonight because Leo most likely came to him and told him about Frank’s attempted murder...even though it seemed unlike the Prince. Over the past few days the Gladiator had managed to get to know him some and Leo didn’t seem like someone who would go to his father with something like this.

Which meant that when Frank came to a stop outside the large, metal door, he was in the dark about what his destiny would be. Two roman soldiers stood on either side, so still they might’ve as well been statues, the crimson feathers of their helmets dusted with shadows.

“Weapons,” one of the men barked. Frank wasn’t intimidated – he was bigger than both the men and could take them, even weapon less. He reached to his belt and pulled his sword free, handing it to the guard confidently. The other guard reached up and knocked on the door and when the Emperor’s gruff voice invited Frank in the guards pushed open the heavy doors with a loud creak. The slave girl disappeared down the hallway as if she were a ghost, leaving Frank to his fate.

The Emperor stood inside what proved to be a cell. The walls were rough, grey brick, streaked with foul smelling water. Apart from a pile of straw in one corner and two heavy shackles hanging from the ceiling like nooses, the cell was empty. The Emperor looked out of place here in his rich robes and golden circlet on his head, his cold eyes locked on Frank, something completely detached and inhumane in his eyes. He also looked older than the last time Frank had seen him, and more sickly.

“My lord,” Frank said curtly, though he didn’t bow. He felt like a mouse in a trap, especially when he saw the guards enter the cellar after him, closing the door. Frank’s hands clenched and unclenched subconsciously on his sides. He could take the guards and despite his age, Emperor Hephaestus was a large man and Frank didn’t know whether he’d make it out of this cell if he were to have to face all three.

“Frank. That _is_ your name, isn’t it?” Hephaestus asked.

“Yes, my lord,” Frank said, aware of the presence of the guards at his back, too close, caging him in.

“How is training my son going?”

“I...,” Frank paused and collected his thoughts, “He’s doing better. But it will take more work to make a real warrior out of him.”

“It won’t. Not if he dies tonight,” the Emperor said, and his tone was so offhand, even when he said something like _that,_ that it made Frank’s heart jerk in his chest.

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly.

“My son informed me you went swimming in the lake. Of course it took him a while to finally confess that to the physician, and now he’s being treated in his bedroom because he has _fallen sick,_ ” the Emperor seethed. Frank’s stomach twisted and he wondered if this was some kind of ploy to get a reaction out of him. The last time Frank had seen Leo yesterday the boy seemed fine – dripping wet and angry, but fine. It didn’t make sense with what the Emperor was saying now, “He has a fever, and is shaking in his bed, delusional. The physician doesn’t know if he will last till morning,” his eye twitched and he approached Frank, towering into his face, his sour breath brushing the Gladiator’s face, “My son is weak. I informed you that he is weak and you saw it for yourself, didn’t you?” Leo’s face, flushed and determined, flashed in Frank’s mind. He didn’t say anything, “I asked you train him, to make my son into the strong man that I want him to be and instead you’re murdering him as we speak. Who _told_ you to go into the lake?!”

 “Nobody, my lord,” Frank said, voice even. He was used to intimidation and wealthy men having pretences in his regard. Right now, however, the Gladiator felt worry blooming in his chest. Was Leo really sick? Frank didn’t think it was his fault – he didn’t force Leo into the water...but he did pull him under.

“You’re going to be punished for bringing harm to an Imperial Prince,” Hephaestus said briskly, turning on his foot and striding to the back of the cell, not facing Frank, “Either you accept your punishment or I will have my men force you to take it.”

Frank was a Gladiator; his whole life was one long, tedious punishment. Since he was a little boy his every little mistake was penalized and he was disciplined with cruelty every time he lost a fight. His torso was decorated by scars of his pain – cuts in the arena, lashes in cells – the Emperor’s words now made Frank’s more dejected than afraid. He knew pain, it was his old friend, and so when one of the guards produced a whip with a long, leather straps attached to a crude wooden handle Frank knew what was coming – he wasn’t going to fight it.

“Take off your toga, _boy,”_ the Emperor seethed, turned back towards the Gladiator. Frank did so, silently, mentally detaching himself from the situation. He knew too well that the best way to deal with being whipped was to find something other to focus on, to separate themselves from the pain, “Ten lashes.”

Frank turned his already scared back to the guards and, from experience knowing that he would need something to hold onto, he reached up and grasped the iron shackles hanging from the ceiling. He didn’t think about how many people had died in them as the cold iron dug into his palms. He heard shuffling behind him and anticipated the first hit. He prepared himself for it, he knew what was coming.

And yet the first slash came as a shock. A line of fire burned across Frank’s back, accompanied by an ear-splitting crack. The Gladiator gritted his teeth and stared right ahead at the cell wall, refusing to give the Emperor satisfaction of seeing him buckle beneath the pain. The neck slash came, violent and destructive, ripping at Frank’s back. Hot blood poured down his skin and Frank’s hands tightened impossibly on the iron he held onto as another lash came, and another. He refused to scream.

His mind travelled to Leo, the only person, the only thing, he could concentrate on in that moment. Frank had never had strong relationships in his life – friendships he made when he was still a naive child were always ripped apart by death and it was only so much of his friends dying that Frank could take before he detached himself from humanity.

_Slash._

But Leo...Leo was full of fire and passion and determination and he was painfully alive and the first person in Frank’s life that didn’t have a constant cloud of destruction hanging over his head. Except he did now, because he was sick, and the sickness could kill him.

_Slash._

Frank promised himself , in that moment of burning agony, that if Leo survived this, if _he_ himself survived this, he would apologize to the boy.

_Slash._

Reality began to blur for the Gladiator as the slashes continued, like furious teeth gnawing at his skin. His back felt like a field of agony, the sound of the whip cracking against his bloodied flesh echoing off the stone walls. Frank didn’t make a sound and despite the fact that his legs shook he refused to buckle. He remained strong even as he grew dizzy and nauseous.

The torture stopped finally, but the pain continued to roll over Frank’s body, in continuous, unbearable waves. Blood dripped onto the ground and the Emperor’s voice cut into Frank’s conscious like knives.

“Don’t ever make a mistake like that again. I don’t give second chances. If my son lives you will continue to train him. If he dies...well, I still have other children.”

The door shutting with a groan was the only indication that he had left and Frank turned, wincing in pain, and found that he was alone now. His legs finally gave way.

***

Frank pushed the door open, aware that his status would mean he should’ve knocked prior to the action, actually his status meant that he shouldn’t have been here at all, yet he was so in pain that he didn’t care about the social courtesy. He had barely had the strength to find a slave girl and force her to give him bandages to wrap around his ravaged back.  It did little to help though, as he bled through the fabric. In a state of half-consciousness he stumbled through the corridors of the palace, and he couldn’t bring himself to go to his room, instead trailing up and up until he found Leo’s room. He didn’t even know how he knew where the boy slept. When he stumbled into the chamber he fell back against the door, closing it with the weight of the body and wincing when his bandages pressed against the wood. The bedroom was dark, the only light coming from candles next to the bed, which was bathed in a soft golden glow.

Leo laid in the narrow bed, and Frank suddenly understood why he got lashed. He didn’t look...good. His face was pale but his cheeks and the tip of his button nose were bright red. His eyes were closed, mouth gently parted to let out rattling breaths. His curls were spread on the pillow, and a wet towel rested on his forehead. He looked small and fragile, more than he normally did, as he laid there and Frank approached his bed, not knowing what his purpose here was.

“Leo?” he asked softly, leaning heavily on the long spiral of wood on one corner of the bed that was holding up the canopy. The Prince’s eyes fluttered open, half-lidded and exhausted.

“Frank?” his eyes widened and he struggled into a sitting position, “Gods you scared me. What are you doing here?”

“I heard you got sick,” Frank said quietly, pushing his own pain to the side in order to focus on Leo and the remorse he was feeling.

“I’m fine,” Leo murmured, sliding the towel from his forehead and throwing it somewhere into the darkness of the room, “I should’ve listened to you and dried my clothes.”

Frank looked at him for a moment. He suddenly had this horrible, unexplainable ache in his stomach that told him that he needed to protect the boy in front of him, “I’m sorry I almost drowned you.”

“It’s fine. I was acting like a child,” Leo admitted and briefly closed his eyes, “I really am useless.”

“You’re not,” Frank said, and he sat on the side of the bed, unable to remain upright. His back felt like it was on fire.

“I am,” Leo whispered, looking helplessly at Frank. He looked somewhere between an angel and a demon, flushed and exhausted and... _Oh Gods he’s beautiful,_ Frank thought distractedly and immediately blamed his peculiar thought on the fact that he could barely think straight, “I can’t do anything right no matter how hard I try. I got sick from a simple swim in a lake in the middle of the summer, how _pathetic_ am I?”

“You’re not,” Frank repeated again, “You’re going to get better. I see promise in you.”

A faint smile appeared on Leo’s face, “You’re being kind. You’re never kind. Not to me.”

“I...,” Frank licked his lips, unsure of what to say. He looked at Leo and the shadows dancing on his face in the flicker of the candles. He reached out, his body moving before his mind could process his desires, and he pressed his hand to the boy’s forehead. Leo’s eyes were soft when they looked at Frank, like pools of molten chocolate, “Gods, you’re really warm.”

“I have a fever,” Leo whispered. Frank’s hand lingered on his face for longer than it should’ve and he saw the flicker of confusion in the Prince’s eyes, which caused the Gladiator to hurriedly jerk his arm back. This, unfortunately, caused a shot of agony to go through Frank’s back and he winced. Leo’s eyes widened, “Frank?” he demanded, shifting forward, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Frank gritted out, “Nothing.”

Leo shoved his covers to the side and pushed himself to his knees, wobbling uncertainly on his knees and leaning into Frank to remain upright, “Tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered, resting his forehead on Frank’s shoulder. The Gladiator didn’t know when they had gotten this physically comfortable with each other...maybe it was just because of Leo’s illness and his own pain.

“I’m fine,” Frank lied, Leo’s soft curls brushing against the Gladiator’s jaw.

“He lashed you, didn’t he?” Leo whispered. Frank squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m fine.”

“Let me see,” Leo murmured. Frank shook his head.

“No. It’s too much blood,” he said and Leo pulled back, looking at him in shock. Frank realised how harsh his words sounded and he winced, “No, Leo-“

The Prince gently grabbed Frank’s hand, suddenly, desperately, gripping it between his surprisingly cold fingers. Frank was stunned by the sudden touch and by Leo’s next words, “I’m sorry,” Leo whispered, “I’m sorry he did that. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.”

His eyes were filled with tears. Frank wanted to kiss him suddenly, to pull him close and touch every inch of his burning skin, to claim him and see all the wonderful expressions the stubborn boy could make. He wanted it so badly he could barely breathe. _How many lashes would I get for defiling the Emperor’s son?_ His mind wasn’t in the right place, his pain making him think things he didn’t mean. He could deal with his peculiar and subtle physical attraction to Leo, as long as it didn’t grow past that. It wasn’t Leo specifically – it was just that Frank had never had any kind of relationship with anyone and so spending so much time with the Prince was taking a toll on him. That was all...

That, and the fact that Leo’s small hand fitted perfectly in his right now, his warm brown eyes downcast and brimming with tears. His touch seemed to soothe the horrible burn in Frank’s back. They were both in a bad state currently – Leo’s body burned with a fever and Frank’s burned from his punishment and they weren’t themselves. Frank was sure the hate and irritation he felt for the boy would return soon, but right now he just wanted to hold the boy in his arms and persuade himself that the Prince would survive this illness.

A noise sounded down the corridor, bringing Frank back to reality. He pulled his hand out of Leo’s, “Goodnight. Sleep well so I can continue to train you.”

He slipped off the bed and walked across the room and out of the room, barely aware of what he was doing, the cooler air of the corridor fanning over his face. He collapsed against the wall outside Leo’s door and took deep, shallow breaths, sweat beading on his face.

“Frank, isn’t it?”

The Gladiator didn’t want to hear the voice, he didn’t want to hear _any_ voice. He cracked his eyes open, not recalling ever closing them, and saw a big man standing a few feet away. He was in a light sleeping tunic, threaded with gold which implied that he was a Prince.

“Who are you?” Frank asked gruffly, the pain in his back making him uncaring about his manners or social niceties.

“Prince Claudius,” the man said, “what were you doing in my brother’s room?”

Frank closed his eyes, breathing shallow. He felt like his body wasn’t working properly, “The Emperor said he was sick, I wanted to make sure he was alright.”

“What’s wrong with you? You’re bleeding,” there was worry in the Prince’s voice. Frank was unable to answer, “Here, come with me and let me have a look at your back.”

**2 nd Quintilis 192AD (A week later)**

It might’ve been the hottest day of the year, at least it felt that way to Leo as he slid from his horse and tied it to the same tree he always did, allowing the animal to graze peacefully in the green underbrush. After days of being forcefully confined to his bed, sweating and in a dizzy kind of pain, it felt good to be out among nature. The air smelled like fresh flowers from nearby fields, and the breeze from the lake, and Leo could see the water between the trees. He grinned and slowly walked down to the water’s edge.

Frank was working out, clearly having grown impatient awaiting the Prince. He was shirtless as always, skin glistening in the sun as he gracefully spun, a wooden sword in hand. Leo’s smile melted off his face when he saw the man’s back – there were angry red welts on his skin and although not bleeding they still looked painfully fresh. Leo remembered vaguely Frank coming to him in the night but his memories were fever-ridden and he wasn’t sure if he had dreamt that.

“Should you be doing that?” Leo asked, leaning against a tree, “If you start bleeding out I won’t be able to carry you back to the Palace.”

Frank stopped mid-swing and looked over at the Prince, a small smile appearing briefly on his face, “You have a horse, no?”

“I don’t know if my horse would take your weight,” Leo teased, pushing himself off the bark and trailing over to the man, picking up a wooden sword from the pile of Frank’s things on the dirt bank.

“How are you feeling?” Frank asked. Leo grinned and faced him,

“Could it be that you’re _worried?”_ he asked. Frank rolled his eyes and pointed his sword at the Prince, which the boy hit with his own weapon playfully. The atmosphere between the two of them seemed to have changed – their words, despite still being sharp and cutting, had an underlying softness to them.

“Let’s fight,” Frank said.

Leo’s good mood soon dampened as in minutes Frank had him down on the ground, sweating and gasping for breath, his sword laying a few feet away, useless. The Gladiator hovered over the Prince and Leo felt the familiar frustration at being unable to win even once trickle into his stomach. He knocked the hand Frank offered to pull him up with to the side and stood up himself, brushing sand and dirt and dry mud off his legs and trailing over to his sword to pick it up.

“I feel like you’re not motivated enough,” Frank said suddenly, studying Leo as if he were some exotic animal. Leo frowned.

“Of course I’m motivated. I’m motivated to beat you.”

“Yes but you have no goal you’re working towards,” the Gladiator said, “I was thinking...we should have rewards.”

“Rewards?” Leo questioned, puzzled. Frank shrugged and casually rested his sword on his naked shoulder.

“Let’s say if I win a fight then you have to do anything I desire, and vice versa,” the man said, a gleam in his eye indicating to Leo that he had thought this through and already had something he wanted. The Prince’s eyes narrowed.

“What would I want from you?” he asked, voice full of suspicion. Frank shrugged.

“You’ll have some time to think about that since you won’t be winning any fights for a while. Maybe you’ll have something to work towards.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Leo said, because the idea of a competition between him and Frank filled his stomach with excitement. Leo just wanted to beat him...badly. He stuck his arm out, “Fine. I agree to your terms – it’s a bet.”

“Perfect,” a vague smile danced around Frank’s lips and he grasped Leo’s forearm. His fingers went all the way around the boy’s arm but when Leo clasped the Gladiator’s arm in response his hand looked amusingly small and delicate, like a girls. It dampened his mood further and made him even more determined to beat the man in front of him.

He stepped back, hand gripping his sword, and his legs seemed to move by themselves as he shifted to the side. He had to be quick, anticipate Frank’s move. But the Gladiator’s face was unreadable – his jaw was tense and sharp, eyes dark and brooding, brows drawn. He seemed to be holding his sword casually in his hand, and yet Leo knew that he could snap into action in seconds. Leo remembered Frank’s words from their first fight here - _you should attack because it’s easier for you to get past defence._

Leo dashed forward, raising his sword. Frank seemed to have anticipated that he was going to do that because his weapon was ready to parry Leo’s weak blow. But the Prince was learning and he expected that; as the impact from Frank’s counter-blow jerked him to the side Leo danced around the Gladiator, going for his back instead of his front. His sword almost touched Frank’s skin, but in the end the man was faster. He whirled on Leo, knocking his sword to the side so hard Leo’s whole body turned around. He fell backwards against Frank’s chest – which felt like slamming against a brick wall – and the Gladiator’s arm came around his neck loosely. When Leo tried desperately to get the upper hand, bringing his sword up, Frank grasped his wrist so hard the boy was forced to drop his weapon, a shot of faint pain going up his arm.

“You’re dead,” Frank said, and his face was so close to Leo’s that the boy felt his breath against his cheek. The Prince’s eyes fluttered shut for a second as he found himself losing control of his body, which just wanted to melt back against Frank.

The Gladiator released Leo and shakily the Prince stumbled away, trying not to show how that interaction had shaken him. He didn’t even know why that had happened but his body felt warm, and it wasn’t from the sun, “Again, and if I win this time I want two bronze coins.”

“ _Two_ bronze coins?” Leo demanded, “what?!”

“I can ask for anything I want from you, remember?” Frank smirked. Leo was starting to believe it might’ve been a bad decision to allow Frank to ask for whatever he wanted, but it was too late to turn back now. Leo had never truly had an opponent like Frank before – someone to match him in wit and overpower him physically. The Prince normally dealt with big men who tried to play on his insecurities with a sharp tongue, but Frank was strong in that department too. It seemed that there wasn’t anything he was bad at.

**14 th Quintilis 192AD (12 days later)**

Leo had privately hoped he’d never have to return to the Gladiator arena now that his days were taken up in large by training with Frank. And yet the boy found himself here, in the dreaded balcony, sitting directly next to his father. None of his siblings were present and the tension in the balcony culminated between the two men as well as Aphrodite, who Hephaestus insisted followed him everywhere.

“Father,” Leo leaned closer to the Emperor so the man could hear him over the overpowering roar of the crowd, “Why are we here?”

The arena was empty for now but the palpable excitement of the audience made it clear that there was something other than a Gladiator fight about to commence. The atmosphere was different, more...blood thirsty.

“Patience is a virtue,” his father replied, voice steely. He turned to the side and coughed violently, before spitting a bloody dollop onto the ground. His wife looked at it with disgust.

Leo twisted his fingers in his lap, curls sticking to the nape of his neck in the heat of the summer’s day. The boy would give anything to be at the lakeside with Frank right now.  In the past two weeks he might’ve lost too much money to the Gladiator, who asked for coins every time he won a fight, but Leo was starting to believe that he was getting better.  He hadn’t managed to win any of their fights yet but several times his wooden weapon had skimmed Frank’s skin, and their fights had become more stretched out, with Leo not falling in the blink of an eye but managing to dance around Frank and away from his weapon for some time. But Leo always lost, no matter how hard he tried and he dreaded the day they would fight with real weapons, when he’d have to face blood. There was just something about it that made him want to vomit every time he saw it.

Which was why he was feeling queasy now since he had a vague idea of what might transpire soon, and it wouldn’t be a performance, at least not the kind with music and masks. The noise that suddenly rolled over the arena made Leo’s eyes snap down to the pit, where Roman guards were shoving a group of people into the arena, pushing and prodding them with long spears like cattle. Leo’s eyes widened when he realised that the people were slaves – in ragged, brown clothing, their faces streaked with dirt, eyes wild and afraid. There was maybe half a dozen of them, hanging close to each other, men and women looking painfully small in the centre of the arena as the people jeered at them from the coliseum benches. The metal grate shut as soon as all of the slaves were out in the fighting pit, caging them in.

“They’re runaway slaves who attempted to escape Rome the night before last,” Leo’s father said, voice on the edge of satisfaction, “They’re here to be executed.”

Leo swallowed past the disgust in his throat. He didn’t know whether his father did the things he did in order to spite his son, or because he thought that if he pushed hard enough Leo would become the man he desperately wanted him to be. The Prince watched the slaves, absolutely petrified, crowding in the centre of the pit, holding onto each other. His mind travelled to Frank – he was a slave as well, and yet when he had been in this arena he probably had bigger chances than these people here would get.

The grates on two sides of the entrance parallel to the one the slaves had come out of opened with a long, drawn out noise like a scythe scraping across rocks. An eerie, unsettling silence fell over the tribunals and people leaned forward, seemingly holding their breaths, greedy eyes focused on the slaves in the arena, who had frozen.

As if in slow motion, the time stretched out, two lions slinked from the gaping holes in the wall of the arena – they were large, golden, and _hungry._ Leo’s stomach twisted and he thought he would lose consciousness right there and then as the eyes of the lions fixated on the trembling, petrified slaves. The crowd went wild and in that small moment when the lions weren’t attacking yet and the slaves were silent in their fear, Leo wondered how it was possible for humans to cheer on a massacre of other humans.

The lions launched forward and the slaves snapped into action, falling apart as the animal pounced on a man – so old he had no chance of running – and brought him down. Its jaws closed over the man’s head and blood spurted out as if out of a rotten tomato as the other lion chased down two women, screaming and running through the edge of the arena, but there was no hope for them for there was nowhere to escape. The corpse of the old man laid on the ground in a pool of blood, his head looking like a piece of chewed meat, and the lion who had killed him was now gnawing at the stomach of another man. The second lion had gotten one of the women down and was in the process of ripping her leg off as she screamed, reaching for her friend who sobbed, back pressed against the walls of the arena.

Leo couldn’t take it. The blood was making him bilious but the fact that the fate of these people was happening right in front of them, that they were being executed in such an inhuman way for sport, it made him physically hurt. He hated to see people suffer and this...this was too much. He was soft, and he knew that, but bringing him to this execution wouldn’t change that.

Leo jerked to his feet and ignoring his father’s look of disapproval he raced down the back staircase, down to the back of the arena where horses and chariots awaited the wealthier Romans who had come to the Coliseum. Leo barely took a breath of the air before he doubled over and heaved his breakfast onto the sandy ground. The rancid vomit burned up his throat and the boy coughed and spluttered, his world tilting to the side. He thought he could smell the blood in the air though he knew that wasn’t true and for once he was glad for the roar of the crowd because it drowned out the screams of the dying slaves.

***

“I have never been so disappointed with one of my children,” Hephaestus said, his voice low and full of malice and anger. Leo couldn’t face him, standing helplessly in front of his father, staring at his feet and ignoring the hollow feeling in his stomach. Night had fallen and the Emperor returned from the execution hours after Leo, and had sent a servant to deliver his son to his office. And now Leo stood here, like a child about to be scolded, “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, _boy.”_

Leo’s eyes snapped upwards and he tried desperately to remain facing the Emperor, no matter how intimidating he was, “I apologise, father.”

“Apologies, apologies,” Hephaestus spat, and his eyes were so _furious_ that Leo wanted the ground to open and Pluto to pull him into the fiery pits of the Underworld – it would have been easier that facing his father, who was currently pacing around his office, occasionally punching the wallpapered walls or his mahogany desk, “Why can’t you be like your brothers?!”

Leo’s hands clenched at his sides, teeth gritted. He was scared, but he was also angry. Why did people constantly tell him these things – being himself was like a curse in this Palace. Why should he apologise for not being like everybody else.

“Answer me!” the Emperor bellowed, face purple with rage, spittle flying through the air. Leo didn’t look away, desperate to remain strong, “Why are you like this?!”

“I’m fine,” Leo said, voice low and tense. Hephaestus stopped walking mid-step, his head snapping to the side with a certain kind of controlled violence, his eyes burning with hatred. Leo was used to his father looked angry and disappointed whenever he was around, but hate...

“What did you just said?” the man seethed. Leo swallowed but he was determined to stand strong in his conviction.

“I think I’m fine the way I am,” he said, proud that his voice didn’t tremble.

Hephaestus closed the space between them in moments and grasped Leo’s tunic in his huge fist, inadvertently lifting the boy off his feet. Leo’s hands scrambled at his father’s fist as his feet dangled in the air. The Emperor’s sour breath wafted over his face as he lifted his son high enough that they were face to face. It smelled like blood, and a map of red veins were cracked over his eyeballs. Up close the Emperor looked much older and much sicker. Leo knew if he looked away now it would be admitting defeat so he remained tense, looking directly in his father’s face.

“You faint at the sight of blood like a damsel,” Hephaestus growled and Leo’s bottom lip trembled as his heart pounded but he tried his hardest not to show his fear, “You can’t fight. You might’ve as well been born a girl for all the use I get out of you as a man.”

“Let go of me,” Leo said quietly. He shouldn’t have said that, he knew it the moment he saw his father’s expression shift. In one swift, savage movement the Emperor sent Leo backwards, into the wall.

The boy’s back cracked painfully upon impact and a breathless groan was ripped from his throat as he crumpled to the ground, pain erupting from his back. His father didn’t give him time to catch his breath as he grasped his tunic and jerked him back to his feet violently. Before Leo’s brain could grasp at what was happening the man’s fist connected with his face. A numbing kind of pain exploded through the boy’s nose as he stumbled back as his father released him, his hand coming to grip at his face. It felt as if his mind had been switched off for a second and the tiny pins began pricking at his cheeks. His eyes watered and he gasped for air, looking at his father in shock. The man had never hit him.

“Get out,” he seethed now, turning away from his son in disgust. Leo wanted to say something but he chocked, feeling warmth slide down the bottom of his face. He staggered forward, past his father, his face pounding, and out of the door into the corridor. He felt weird, uneasy and as the door to the Emperor’s office slammed behind him he finally pulled back his hands.

In the flickering light of the torches on the stone walls he saw the liquid that covered his hands. It looked black but Leo knew very well that it was scarlet. Blood, pouring from his nose. The boy took in a breath because his lungs felt empty suddenly and when he exhaled it was a high-pitched whimper. He stared at his hands and they trembled helplessly as more blood dripped over Leo’s lips and onto his tunic. He was glad he couldn’t see the state he was in right now but it didn’t matter much because just the awareness of the fact that he was bleeding profusely was enough to make him want to vomit.

Somehow the boy walked away from his father’s office, stumbled down hallways, unaware where he was going. He was shaking, his breath coming out rapidly, and tears filled his eyes. His hand shot out so he could lean against a wall, because he couldn’t stay upright, feeling like his legs would give out. His bloodied fingers left dark marks on the stone. He needed to find someone who could help him – where was Nyssa? Where was Beckendorf?

“My lord?!” someone exclaimed, and suddenly there was a guard in front of Leo. The boy lurched to the side, avoiding leaning on the stranger, “My lord what happened?!”

“F-Frank,” he whimpered, light-headed.

“Who, my Lord?” the guard asked anxiously.

“G-Gladiator,” Leo stuttered, “M-My trainer.”

“Did he do it to you my Lord?!”

“N-No...I-I need to see him,” Leo whimpered.

“He’s downstairs in the cells, my Lord. Should I get him?”

“T-Take me there,” Leo muttered, grabbing at the soldier’s shoulder. The man said something as he nervously pulled Leo forward but the boy could only hear the rush of blood to his own head. He pressed his hand to his face as if that would stop the blood flowing from his nose, and was barely aware where he was going, stumbling with each step. Why had he asked for Frank? The man would only laugh and think of Leo as weak. The boy couldn’t focus on that thought though, he was sure he would faint, just like his father had predicted. His vision blurred, and he heard voices and felt hands pulling at him, but they seemed far away and not real, as if Leo was in a dream.

The cold cloth pressing against his face moments later made his vision clear and he was gently lowered back to reality. He blinked the mist from his eyes, but the tears remained. The cloth against his face was soft and wonderfully cold, and Leo was aware that he was sitting on a hard, uncomfortable bed. When his hand shifted upwards to keep it pressed to his face, his fingers bumped against a hand.

“Good to see that you’re back,” Frank’s voice drifted to his head and the man’s hand disappeared, so Leo held onto the cloth alone and shifted it so he could look at Frank. The Gladiator was knelt in front of the boy, his hair, which had been so short when Leo first met him had now grown out slightly, and was messy as if he had been sleeping. His eyes were softer as well. Leo didn’t know what to say, he was still shaken.

“Is there a l-lot of blood?” he asked shakily, voice muffled by the cloth.

“Yes. Face wounds usually bleed a lot,” Frank said, but there was nothing condescending in his voice, “Who did that to you?” Leo closed his eyes and shook his head.  Frank gently took the cloth from him, for a second his hand holding the other boy’s – though he might’ve imagined that – and pulled it away from his face, “Who did this, Leo?” Frank asked and his voice was so soothing that Leo just wanted to confide in him.

“My father,” Leo whispered, and his voice was hoarse. He sniffled and Frank gently dabbed at his chin, cleaning off the leftover blood. The Gladiator didn’t say anything but his jaw clenched visibly, “Is it still bleeding?”

“No,” Frank said, standing. Leo looked around the room that now seemed to belong to the Gladiator. It was nothing more than a cell with stark, cold walls and a small window that didn’t let any light. Apart from a small bed jammed between the walls and two torches on the walls, there was little more in the chamber. It was unlike Leo’s rich bedroom upstairs. Somehow the thought made him sad and he felt his eyes well up with tears. Perhaps the stress of the past few days was finally getting to him, the constant training and insults and beating himself for not being the way everybody wanted him to be was finally taking a physical toll.

He sniffled again, nose aching, and brought his arm up to catch any tears that threatened to fall, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of Frank. But naturally the Gladiator’s sharp eyes picked out what was happening.

“Why are you upset?” he asked, going to a basin in the corner to wring out the cloth he had cleaned Leo’s face with.

“I’m not,” the Prince lied, wiping at his eyes.

“Does it hurt?”

“It’s not that,” Leo looked away, frustrated because the tears kept filling his eyes no matter how badly he tried to blink them away. He knew he should get up and leave before he truly humiliated himself.

Frank walked back over, holding the damp cloth in his hand. He knelt back down in front of Leo and the boy thought he was too close, he could see exactly how weak the Prince was being right now. However instead of pointing that out Frank lifted his hand and carefully rested it on top of Leo’s curls, almost as if he was trying to...comfort him.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said. Leo sniffled again, Frank’s kindness making him fall apart more.

“I-I’m j-just not getting a-any better,” he whispered shakily and, feeling that he was about to burst into tears, he buried his face in his hands, “I’m s-so u-useless,” his words ended on a sob.

Frank didn’t say anything and Leo tried to remain silent as tears spilled from his eyes and onto his palms, but occasional sniffles and soft sobs still wrecked his frame. Slowly, almost hesitantly, the Gladiator’s hands started moving, gently combing through Leo’s hair. _He’s really trying to make me feel better_ , Leo thought distractedly and that realisation made him giggle, which turned into another sob.

“You’re going to be alright,” Frank repeated awkwardly, clearly unsure how to act in this situation. Leo nodded, took a deep breath and sat back, wiping his face furiously on his arm. His nose throbbed but he wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said and abruptly stood up. He wanted to leave – Frank was his trainer and probably the strongest person Leo knew, physically and mentally. He fought for his life every day and the fact that Leo was crying in front of him about some blood was ridiculous. He had to be stronger, he had to do better.

**18 th Quintilis 192AD (4 days later)**

“You’re dead.”

Frank knocked Leo down to the ground but he felt no satisfaction that usually accompanied the feeling of beating the boy in a fight. Now he was just frustrated; he wanted Leo to get better but he knew it would take more than only a few weeks to make a true fighter out of him. He was seeing some improvements in the way the boy fought and yet it wasn’t enough. Frank was tired of beating him all the time, tired of the anger it cause the other boy. It was clear to him how much the boy despised himself; Frank saw it in his face that night that he had come to him, all bloodied and crying. It made the Gladiator more careful with his words – he knew he already hurt Leo physically but he was trying hard not to do the same with his words.

Leo laid on the ground and exhaled in irritation, and Frank offered him his hand even though he already knew the boy would push it away, which was exactly what he did, “Are we done for today?” he asked despondently.

“Well it is getting late,” Frank admitted, wiping sweat off his forehead and gazing at the amber sun that had began to sink beneath the tree tops on the opposite side of the lake. When he turned back around Leo was knelt by a pile of his things by his horse and was rummaging for his pouch. Frank really should’ve been more excited for the money he was about to receive, but it just filled his mouth with a bitter taste. Leo had plenty of money – he was the Emperor’s son after all and bronze coins were worth nothing to him even if to Frank a pile of them was a fortune. He needed to find something different that would motivate Leo to put his all into fights.

“No,” Frank stopped the Prince as he pulled out his money pouch. Surprised, Leo looked up.

“What?”

“I don’t want money anymore,” the Gladiator said, “It’s clearly not working for you since you have an abundance of it, and I don’t need it anyway.”

“Well what do you want instead?” Leo looked slightly nervous as he placed his pouch back down, his face flushed from previous exertion. As he looked at him, a plan was beginning to form in his mind...a plan that Frank had to admit was going to embarrass Leo, to motivate him to work as hard as he could, but it was also for his own personal pleasure, so he could relieve some of the tension that had been building up in his body for the past weeks.

“You’re going to be my girl and give me a kiss every time you lose a fight,” Frank said and although he knew he sounded confident, his heart pounded. Leo’s cheeks grew redder than they already were and his eyes widened.

“W-What?!” he spluttered. Frank closed the space between them and saw Leo visibly gasp, backing up until his back hit the wall of the dungeon. Frank crowded into his personal space – it was good if he scared Leo, made him feel uncomfortable. He was sure it would make the boy despise him but at least the boy would be more motivated and determined not to lose fights if it would end in this, “F-Frank what are you doing?!” Leo squeaked and Frank put his hands on the wall, either side of Leo’s head.

“I told you,” Frank said seriously, “as long as you don’t win fights you’re my girl.”

“I’m not a girl,” Leo growled, pressing a hand against Frank’s chest and trying to push him away. The Gladiator smiled, barely even feeling the push.

“I get to ask you for anything I want if I win a fight,” he said, leaning into Leo’s personal space. The boy turned his head to the side, his eyes wide, cheeks red, “I want a kiss.”

“Y-You’re...you can’t...,” Leo stuttered. It was amusing to see him like this – flustered and confused where he was usually so confident and arrogant. Frank leaned in closer and his actions were spurred by a desire to embarrass Leo, but also because he wanted to know what the boy tasted like. He grabbed the boy’s chin in his hand and turned his head roughly, trying not to act like he was going to enjoy this. His nose brushed against Leo’s and his eyes flickered to the Prince’s own, scared ones, and then he pressed their mouths together.

Leo’s lips were soft and trembling lightly against Frank’s. The Gladiator slotted them against each other, but the moment that their mouths fit together properly Leo shoved him away, wiping his lips furiously with the back of his hand.

“That’s enough!” he spluttered, the tips of his ears burning red. Frank smiled and stepped back, picking up his sword.

“So it works. Good to know,” he pointed the weapon at Leo, “Now fight me.”

**21 th Quintilis 192AD (3 days later)**

Frank was kissing him. Actually Leo didn’t know if he could’ve called what was happening kissing, it was more like Frank was pressing their mouths together, moving his lips ever so slightly against Leo, almost as if he was trying to prolong the exchange. Nobody had ever kissed Leo so he had nothing to compare it to, but he fearfully had to admit to himself that he enjoyed the feeling of Frank against him. The Gladiator was forceful, though not overly so, his lips rough and unapologetic like the rest of him.

Leo pushed him away, afraid of his own desire that was beginning to awaken in his stomach. Ever since Frank had chosen to punish him with this he had had peculiar, bewildering dreams of rough, manly hands touching his skin and doing shameful, shameful things to him. Even remembering it now made Leo blush, which he hoped he could hide under the flush from training.

“You’re red like a damsel,” Frank teased, himself seemingly unaffected by the kiss.

“S-Shut it, Frank,” Leo snapped, “You know how embarrassing that is, that’s why you do it, and that’s why I’m blushing.”

“It’s working though,” Frank said, “You’re getting better every day. Now – another fight.”

**26 th Quintilis 192AD (5 days later)**

Leo’s arms ached with exertion but he refused to lose this time. He whirled around Frank, almost too fast for the Gladiator to keep up. The man stood in the centre of the training room that the boys had chosen for themselves out of one of the abandoned cells in the dungeon, and from the way his eyes tried to follow Leo the Prince knew that he could win this.

His breathing came out harsh and rough but the way the wooden sword in his grasp felt comfortable, and felt more as a part of him than ever before. Beads of sweat appeared on Frank’s forehead but the cold radiating off the walls cooled Leo’s body. He was aware of every part of his body – his curls were kept out of his face with a piece of string, his feet were firm on the ground but he was light on his toes, spinning out of reach of Frank’s sword as the man swung at him. Leo jerked forward, low, out of reach of Leo’s arm, and got his wooden sword at the back of the man’s legs.

“Good!” Frank yelled, “Harder next time.”

His sudden praise jerked Leo out of his rhythm and he slowed. Just a moment of hesitation was enough for Frank, who whipped around the way Leo hadn’t expected him too and brought his sword down. Leo lifted his weapon, heart stuttering in his chest, but he was too slow and his grip was too weak. Frank easily knocked the sword from his hand.

“Fuck,” Leo groaned, grasping his wrist and rubbing it subconsciously.

“But you’re getting better,” Frank said, and Leo tried not to let his disappointment shows as his  shoulders slumped. He knew what was coming next and his stomach twisted in anticipation yet he didn’t want to show any form of excitement, didn’t want to show Frank that he enjoyed his punishment. He definitely wasn’t losing on purpose but he couldn’t help but admit that even losing wasn’t so horrible anymore.

“Come on then,” he mumbled, trying to force a tone of disgust into his voice, which didn’t quite work. Frank closed the gap between them and ducked his head to kiss the Prince. It was a quick, hurried peck that made Leo ache for more. The Gladiator pulled back faster than Leo would’ve wanted and looked ready to continue fighting. Leo licked his lips – he knew he was playing a dangerous game here and he should’ve made it clear that Frank’s ‘punishment’ was inappropriate.

Leo’s hand tightened on his sword once more and a new determination burned through him. He could win this fight, he could. His toga stuck to his sweaty back and he contemplated taking it off like Frank had done, but before he could make a decision Frank took up a defensive position. Leo tried to spot his weaknesses. The man had both his hand on his sword, raised to about hip level. That left the lower half of his body exposed and Leo relied on his small size as he barrelled forward, lifting his sword high and feigning a high hit which Frank parried as he sunk to his knees and went for the Gladiator’s gut.

He almost got it but at the last second Frank’s foot came up and he knocked Leo’s sword from his hands. Leo’s shoulders slumped once more but Frank didn’t look disappointed  - in fact he was grinning.

“That was good,” he said sincerely, “Very good. Almost good enough that I won’t ask you for my kiss, Princess. Almost.”

Leo glared at him half-heartedly but honestly he wanted the kiss. He picked himself up off the floor and felt the familiar wave of shyness wash over him, as it did every time he anticipated Frank’s kisses. He was close to one of the walls so he let the sword in his arm hung limply at his side and leaned heavily against the wall. Frank crowded him against it, a little too close for comfort. He didn’t usually get that close to Leo, and yet now there was a smirk on his face as he let his sword clamber to the ground so he could place his hands on either side of Leo’s head, imprisoning him in a cage of his arms.

“It looked like the last kiss didn’t frazzle you, Princess,” Frank teased, leaning in. Leo’s dropped his eyes and looked at his feet, trying helplessly to keep in control over his body and not touch the Gladiator, “I suppose I’ll have to try harder.”

Before Leo could think of a snarky remark, Frank took his chin in his rough hand and forced his head up, so he could lean down and capture his lips. The moment their mouths met, Leo’s heart threatened to jump out of his chest. Frank’s lips were rough and dry against his, insistently pressing against Leo’s.

Suddenly something soft and wet brushed against Leo’s lips and the boy’s eyes snapped open. When had he closed them? He couldn’t remember.

Frank’s body pressed firmly against Leo’s, preventing an escape that the Prince wasn’t going to attempt anyway. He didn’t fully understand why Frank had chosen kissing him as his reward for winning a fight, and he didn’t fully understand why his tongue was now brushing against his lips.

The kiss had somehow grown longer and more drawn out over the weeks and Leo couldn’t help but admit that he enjoyed them, though he tried his hardest not to respond to Frank’s insistent mouth. Now, the feel of the man’s tongue asking for entrance made Leo want to give in. How weak was he? Not only was he completely unmanly in his everyday life but he was also considering submitting himself to another man.

“Frank-mhff,” Leo started his protest which was quickly silenced when the Gladiator took the chance of Leo’s open mouth to thrust his tongue into the boy’s mouth. Leo shuddered at the feeling of the muscle plunging into his mouth, exploring every inch of him, and his knees shook, threatening to give out. His hands shot out and pushed at Frank’s chest but the man refused to budge, like a rock, kissing Leo harder, though not touching him with anything but his lips. Leo’s eyes slid closed again because it was too hard trying to keep them open. His hands that had been pushing at Frank’s chest now simply laid there in fists as the boy tried to remain collected despite the molten fire that seemed to be travelling through his veins, making him light-headed and dizzy.

Leo was going to go crazy, he was sure of it. He was going to lose his mind. A moan clawed its way up his throat but thankfully it was muffled against Frank’s mouth. With an impossible surge of will, Leo pushed Frank away. He was surprised to find that there was a light blush dusting the Gladiator’s normally pale skin, and his eyes seemed darker.

Leo swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat, “T-That’s enough.”

“Training’s done for tonight. We’ll go running tomorrow.”

**2 nd Sextilis 192AD (7 days later)**

“I hate you,” Leo growled but the words lost impact due to the breathiness of his voice.

“Mhmm, of course you do,” Frank replied and delved back down to the Prince’s lips.

Two swords laid in the middle of the dungeon, not wooden anymore as the boys have instead moved onto steel ones, though blunt and not able to cause any real damage. Moment ago Leo had lost yet another fight and now Frank had him against a wall, the way he normally did now after a loss, kissing him fiercely.

The Gladiator pulled away from Leo’s delicious mouth with some difficulty because he was afraid if he continued to kiss the boy he would completely lose control over himself. The lanterns on the walls illuminated Leo with a beautiful golden light. Frank couldn’t remember when the Prince had gone from childish and irritating to beautiful and alluring. Of course most of the time he was still childish and irritating, but at times like this, when he was flushed, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, he was everything Frank had ever desired. He had always thought his life would be fighting and fighting and fighting until he finally died but now hope was growing in his heart, a hope that there was more to life than just violence. Leo was so small he had to stand on the tips of his toes and his head was turned all the way up in a way that it couldn’t have been comfortable and yet he showed no signs of moving away, his mouth moving fiercely against Frank’s.

“We need to fight,” Frank said, pulling back a mere inch so his nose was still brushing Leo’s, his voice hoarse, hands subconsciously hovering over the boy’s hips.

“Mhmm,” the boy hummed, but he didn’t seem aware of what was happening. His hands were gripping Frank’s tunic, which he kept on for the first time in a while, and the boy seemed almost afraid that Frank would pull away. Does he enjoy me kissing him? The Gladiator thought, heart pounding. He couldn’t help but think that as he looked down at Leo, so warm and pliant, ready for another kiss.

Frank had to keep his mind on the ultimate goal – his freedom. He couldn’t lose his heart here, he couldn’t fall for Leo, it was immoral, illegal, and dangerous. But in the end it wasn’t Frank’s own will that made him withdraw from Leo’s warm body – it was the echoing sound of someone’s hurried footsteps that did it. Down here in the dungeons every noise was obnoxiously loud.

A servant entered the dungeon, and he bent almost in half in Leo’s direction, “My lord,” he said, “The Emperor wishes to speak with you, and the slave.”

Frank glanced at Leo, and didn’t miss the shift of fear that appeared in the boy’s eyes before he looked away, hands clenched. Frank nodded and anxiously followed the servant out though all he wanted was to remain in the dungeon with Leo. And maybe kiss him some more. Instead the two followed the servant up to the Emperor’s office sullenly.

He was growing tired of seeing the Emperor, something he realised when he found himself back in the man’s presence in his office. He honestly didn’t see Hephaestus an awful lot but even the time he did see him was too much. Over the past months Frank had gotten used to the workings of the palace at the whole but the threatening presence of the Emperor was just something that he couldn’t adjust to despite spending his entire life among screaming and forbidding men.

“Son,” was the Emperor’s only welcome of Leo, and he didn’t address Frank at all. The Gladiator saluted him stiffly and tried not to look at the Prince.

“Your Imperial Highness.”

“Father.”

“How is my son fairing, slave?” the man asked Frank instead of directly addressing Leo. He was looking out of the window at the drills happening on the ground below, arms clasped behind his back. Frank felt anger seep into his stomach when he remembered blood pouring from Leo’s nose. The man here had hit him and Frank fought the urge to push him out of the window, instead glancing at the Prince at his side, whose eyes were trained on the ground. The servant had silently slipped away.

“He is making big improvements my lord,” Frank said carefully though he was sure Hephaestus didn’t truly care about how his son was doing.

The man was silent for a while, “I have noticed you two have grown close. Have you befriended the slave, son?”

The constant use of Frank’s status made the Emperor’s disapproval clear, but his constant change between who he was addressing was throwing the Gladiator off his axis. He tried his hardest not to look at Leo.

“No, father,” the Prince said and Frank felt a pang of pain go through him. The words were hurtful and Frank didn’t know if Leo even meant it.

The Emperor finally turned around, and Frank was startled at how _bad_ he looked. His face was ghostly pale, the wrinkles in their face deep, his mouth stained red from blood. The Emperor was dying. His cold eyes sliding between Leo and Frank, his expression hidden beneath his extensive facial hair. Finally his gaze locked on Frank, “The Gladiators are leaving the city soon – the summer is coming to an end.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Frank tensed. A feeling of foreboding grew in his body.

“I want you to leave with them.”

Frank felt sick at the words. The thought that he was going to have to leave the Palace one day had never occurred to him and now...now he felt as if he didn’t belong in his body, confused and upset.

“No!” Leo blurted, and the emotion in his voice startled Frank. He looked at the boy and his heart twisted painfully. Why did I get attached? I’m a fool, I should’ve known this day would come. Gods he tried not to think about the Emperor’s words but it was impossible, and now the thought of leaving him made his stomach churn.

 “My Lord his training isn’t complete-,” Frank started.

“I don’t like your relationship,” the Emperor barked angrily, interrupting him, “I don’t want you training him anymore.”

“Father,” Leo said and Frank took a step forward before stopping himself, “You can’t send him away, he’s the only trainer with who I made any progress!”

“Progress, ha?” the Emperor demanded, “I don’t see any progress!”

“Leo’s right, he is making progress-,” Frank began but the cold look that the Emperor sent him made him fall silent.

“I wasn’t speaking to you, slave,” the Emperor growled and turned back to his son, “He has been here for most of the summer, and yet I don’t see any progress, son. Physically you appear the same and you remain weak, which you proved at the execution!”

“I’m doing better, father,” Leo said, but he didn’t sound convinced.  

“I don’t see that and I’m tired of having him in my palace,” he shoved his finger in Frank’s general direction. The Gladiator remained still, the man’s words having little impact upon him. As long as he didn’t hurt Leo Frank wouldn’t react.

“Give me a chance to prove myself, father,” there was raw desperation in Leo’s voice and his eyes shone feverishly. The Emperor’s own eyes, like two brown rocks unlike his son’s warm ones, narrowed.

“You want to prove yourself boy?” he asked, “Fine. I will give you one chance and one chance only and if you fail me I will send you away and you will be stripped of your titles and become nothing more than my bastard, is that understood?”

“Yes,” Leo didn’t waver and Frank had to admit that it impressed him how the boy didn’t hesitate at all. Clearly it surprised the Emperor, who lifted his eyebrow.

“You’re fast to agree, foolish boy. On the morrow, you will fight in the yard until first blood,” he said calmly as Leo’s shoulder’s tensed, “with Frank.”

What? shock shot through Frank as if he had been struck by lightning and the disturbance was also clear on Leo’s face. The Emperor looked pleased at their reactions, and it was clear he was simply doing this out of spite, because he hated Frank, and he hated Leo. Honestly the previous words of the Emperor stuck in the Gladiator’s mind. He hadn’t realised how much his and Leo’s relationship had changed over the past few weeks. Nobody had caught them kissing...not yet, but even the Emperor was realising that there was something other than hate between the two men.

“I’ll do it,” Leo said after a heavy pause. Frank didn’t get a choice, he never got a choice, “But if he wins he gets to stay.”

“No, if _you_ win he can stay,” the Emperor shot back. Frank and Leo exchanged an anxious look; honestly the Gladiator wished he had more faith in Leo but as it stood he was still a better fighter than Leo and the boy would be unable to win with him...which meant Frank would be thrown out, back into his old life, fighting for his life every day. The most painful thing was that he would never see Leo again.

“As you wish, father,” Leo said quietly. Frank could always let Leo win...

“Now get out,” the Emperor snarled, and his son turned on his heel and stormed to the door, eager to leave his father’s presence. Frank went after him – he needed to organise his complicated thoughts, “Not you slave,” Hephaestus’ voice stopped Frank and the man turned back to face the Emperor, gritting his teeth. Leo gave Frank a scared look but there was nothing he could do – he walked out of the office, closing the door behind him.

 “Your highness,” Frank said, looking at the man. He was sure if he remained here for much longer he would lose it and murder the Emperor, simply for the amount of disrespect he was showing him.

“Do you think I’m a fool, Slave?” the Emperor asked.

“No, my Lord,” Frank wasn’t in the mood for mind games.

“You’re right, I’m not a fool, so I know how this will play out,” Hephaestus turned back to the window, “you will fight with my son, and you will make it look as if you’re doing your best and yet in the end you will let Leo win.”

“No, I won’t,” Frank lied.

“No,” the Emperor smiled, “You won’t. If Leo wins _you_ will be executed.” Frank’s blood run cold but he didn’t move, allowing the threat to wash over him, “and if you win he will be exiled. You have to make a choice.”

If Frank thought that his words could’ve changed the situation then he would’ve talked but from the Emperor’s face it was clear that there would be no negotiations tonight. It dawned on Frank that on the morrow he would have to make a choice – either Leo would get exiled, or he would get executed. Depending on his choice Leo would end up with a life of poverty and sickness or Frank would end up with no life at all.

**3 rd Sextilis 192AD (The next day)**

Leo wished he could’ve seen Frank during the day, that he spent anxiously in the yard, trying to concentrate on his brothers as they desperately tried to train him in a few short hours until the match at sunset. It was pathetic that the man he was supposed to beat was the only person Leo wanted as he angrily swung his blunt sword at Beckendorf, driving him back with his ferocity.

“He really did teach you something,” his half-brother said, proud.

Leo knew what was at stake here – he didn’t know what it would be like to be exiled, to live a life of poverty. Of course he hoped that Frank would perhaps let him win, but he knew that would be too easy. The fact that the Emperor had asked Frank to stay after Leo left was a clear indication that this fight was meant to be the downfall of both of them.

So it was understandable that when Leo entered the yard he was scared to death. In this same yard he had trained with Frank numerous times but now, with the last of the amber light of the day brushing the tops of the stables that surrounded the ran, it looked like a different place. And Frank looked different too – he stood on the opposite end of the yard, dressed in a tunic, his face shadowed and unreadable. Leo’s siblings and some of the Lords and Ladies staying at the Imperial Palace lined the walls, watching like hungry hawks. His father had made a spectacle out of this and now he sat on a large chair that had been brought by the servants, watching with as much glee as anyone else present.

Nyssa was the judge since she was sharp enough to spot the first blood that would be spilled in the fight. Despite everything Hephaestus had too much pride to allow his son to be killed in a fight with a Gladiator in the yard, and for that Leo was glad. He knew he would’ve been unable to kill Frank, his heart wouldn’t be able to take it.  

Beckendorf approached his little brother with a sword in hand. It had a deadly gleam in the light from the torches lining the yard and it was clear to Leo that it was not a wooden, nor a blunted sword. It was a real weapon with which he could kill Frank.

“You need to beat him,” Beckendorf said quietly, voice urgent as he pushed the sword into Leo’s hand. The boy gripped it, ignoring the trembling in his fingers, “You _have_ to win. You’re my brother, you’re a prince, you can’t be exiled.”

Leo cracked a weak grin, “No worries, brother, I have this.”

Beckendorf drew away, no looking convinced, and Nyssa crossed her arms over her chest, “Alright, let’s begin,” she said, voice tight, “this is a fight until first blood. You may commence.”

The space between Leo and Frank seemed like miles and miles while simultaneously being too close. There was nobody between them except the well walked on ground. The spectators on the side seemed to hold their breath as the two opponents seized themselves up. Leo inhaled and then let that breath out, and it was obnoxiously loud in his ears. His fingers were so tight around the hilt of the sword that he was afraid his bones would snap.

Frank wasn’t moving, his stance defensive, arm casually at his side. Leo wasn’t fooled by his body language – he knew the Gladiator was lightning fast and would snap into action the moment the Prince attacked. Leo was light-headed and his heart pounded as he desperately tried to remember everything Frank had taught him. _I’m stalling, I need to attack,_ the boy told himself and so he pushed his fear to the side and allowed the energy that coursed through his veins to push him into fighting.

He dashed forward and the world around him was silent, or maybe he simply couldn’t hear anything. Frank saw him coming, of course he did, and lifted his weapon. When he brought it down on Leo’s sword it was so violent that it became clear to the Prince that the Gladiator wouldn’t allow him to win tonight. He didn’t understand why, or maybe he had simply believed that Frank liked him more than he really did. The sound of steel on steel filled the yard as Leo parried Frank’s vicious attacks. The dim illumination from the lanterns only succeeded in deepening the shadows in the yard, and made it harder for Leo to see Frank as a clear target.

Frank brought down a particularly hard hit and it reverberated through the boy’s body as he was driven down into the ground. The dramatic gasp from the audience made Leo grit his teeth and he rolled to the side, out of the Gladiator’s reach. His heart was pounding and despite the confusion coursing through Leo his body knew what to do. He pushed himself back to his feet and immediately Frank was slashing at him. The Prince danced away, taking advantage of his small size. He was breathing harshly but the pain in Frank’s eyes made it clear that this fight was just as hard for him as it was for Leo.

“ _Attack!”_ the Emperor screamed, and dissolved into a coughing fit. Leo’s siblings started shouting intelligible things at him, egging him on to hurt Frank  but the boy couldn’t, not yet. He stalled and bought himself time by taunting Frank with his sword. It took his utmost concentration not to get cut by the man’s sharp blade but somehow as the fight stretched on and he lost touch with reality, he managed to remain in one piece.

Frank was like an animal, bearing down on Leo. He was attacking rather than standing his ground like normal and the boy knew he had to exploit that but it was hard trying to hurt the man he was in love with. The sudden thought and the feeling that flooded him after the realisation made him stumble and only his fast reflexes, trained so well by Frank, made him avoid his opponent’s blade.

He wouldn’t win like this – he might’ve been fast but Frank was fast _and_ strong, and there was murder in his eyes. It scared Leo, honestly. Up until now he had thought Frank would never _really_ hurt him and yet now the man was fighting him like he wanted to kill the Prince. The boy knew what he had to do, and although it might not be considered playing ‘fair’ it was the only way he could win this and retain his title and family.

He feigned going for Frank head-on and as the Gladiator went to parry his attack, the boy skipped to the side. His hand wrapped around one of the torches on the wall and he ripped it free. The audience let out an audible gasp, but Leo barely heard it as he threw the torch onto the ground. The dirt that made up the foundation of the yard ignited for a split second, the fire roaring up and blinding Frank for a moment, shocking him and causing him to stumble back. Leo leapt over the flames, not feeling the heat. Blindly Frank lifted his sword and Leo knocked it to the side with his own Instead, reaching for the dagger strapped to his waist and gracefully sliding the blade across Frank’s cheek.

“You’re dead,” Leo whispered.

Crimson blood poured down the man’s face but Leo was so breathless and afraid that the sight of it didn’t affect him. Frank stood frozen, eyes wide, the blood dripping from his sharp jaw onto his toga. The witnesses cheered and laughed and Leo saw the grins on the faces of his siblings, though they didn’t feel him with happiness. There was something unsettling about Frank; he didn’t look pleased that Leo won. He looked afraid.

The Emperor rose, his face unreadable, and silenced the audience with his hand, “Now that my son has won the Slave is-“

Before he could finish he started coughing violently. Gasps ripped from the on-looking Lords and Ladies who rushed to Hephaestus. The man toppled over his chair as spasms racked his body, his face blanched. A woman screamed, Beckendorf was shouting for a physician, but it was too late.

The Emperor simply...died. Leo stood there, struck frozen, still holding the dagger he had slashed Frank with as emotions bombarded him. Nyssa rushed to her brother while everyone else crowded around the Emperor’s body – people were crying, screaming, it was chaos. Leo turned around, lost, and found that Frank had disappeared. His heart pounded and he really should’ve cared more about the death of his tyrannical father, but he didn’t.

“Leo!” Nyssa wrapped her arms around her brother and held him close and her warmth helped to disperse the anger and violence that had been coursing through his body. He felt like he was thawing, and honestly he wanted to collapse and cry, “You did so well,” Nyssa stroked his hair and he held onto her, fighting to keep his breathing even.

“I-I need t-to see F-Frank,” he stuttered, pulling back, brushing his hair from his face and looking around the dark yard hopelessly. The fire he had started had died down.

“Go to your chamber,” Nyssa said calmly, squeezing Leo’s hand, “I’ll send a servant for Frank.”

“M-Make sure he doesn’t leave,” Leo whispered feverishly, “I-I need to see him...”

***

Frank didn’t know what to do, or what to think. Leo had won for the first time, and although it briefly filled Frank with pride he quickly remembered that it solidified his death sentence. However some kind of God must’ve been looking over him because the Emperor had chosen precisely that time to die, and nobody else had known about their agreement. Still, Frank had no idea which of Leo’s brothers would take power and he didn’t know what would happen.

Bleeding and in a panic he returned to his cellar; he didn’t know whether he should attempt an escape, or whether he should wait for the announcing of a new Emperor to demand money for his freedom. He didn’t know anything at all and he found himself sitting on his bed and staring into space until the Princess came to collect him. She took him to one of the royal bedrooms, and Frank’s brain could barely follow what was happening.

“He’s waiting,” the Princess told Frank in the dark corridor. Frank didn’t know her name and he pushed open the door, not bothering to knock. He didn’t even know who was waiting but realised upon entrance that this was, in fact, Leo’s bedroom.

As soon as the door closed behind Frank the Prince whirled from the window, where he had been standing. The window was open and a gentle breeze entered the bedroom, brushing against the delicate curtains. Leo’s face was still flushed from the fight, his curls wild about his face, but he had changed his clothing. Now he wore a simple bleached tunic that reached his mid-thigh and it looked peculiarly attractive to have the boy. Moments ago he had been fighting like a wild cat and now he looked like an angel.

“Frank,” Leo’s voice was more an exhale than an actual word, and he slumped against the wall by the window, his shoulders slumping with relief. The Gladiator didn’t know what to say. He had no right to be here with an Imperial Prince and yet all he wanted was to ensure that Leo was alright. Too late he realised he should’ve wiped the blood from his cheeks before coming here, and yet the Prince didn’t seem bothered by it at the moment.

“Good fight,” Frank said quietly, “I’m proud of you.”

“You didn’t look proud before,” Leo whispered, glancing away, hand subconsciously coming up to hold onto the curtain, “I thought you would’ve been happy that I won’t get exiled.”

Frank couldn’t stand the misery in his voice, “Your father told me if I lost tonight I would be executed.”

“What?” Leo’s normally tanned face blanched.

“He was never going to pay me for my freedom, and was going to catch two birds with one stone; if you lost he would exile you, and if I lost he would execute me.”

Leo’s bottom lip trembled, “I...he’s dead. He died, I...Jake, he’ll...h-he’ll give you your freedom and I...”

He was panicking and Frank didn’t want that. Despite everything his father had just passed away, and he was clearly shaken, “Leo,” the Gladiator kept his voice soft, interrupting the boy’s ramble, “I’m proud of you.”

The boy’s expression crumbled and his eyes shone with sudden tears. He let go of the curtain and strode across the room, closing the space between him and Frank. Before the Gladiator could react the boy stopped in front of him, so close his heart began to pound, and his hand came upwards to hover over the cut on Frank’s cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Hey-,” Frank started.

Leo stood on his tiptoes and kissed him, his free hand pressing to the other side of Frank’s face, cradling his cheeks. The boy’s lips were soft and uncertain and Frank wasn’t going to question why Leo was suddenly kissing him and yet he was still afraid of touching him. He wasn’t _allowed_ to touch the Prince, not in this way.

Leo pulled away, his eyes fluttering open as he looked up at Frank. He reached out and take Frank’s hands in his. His fingers trembled and the Gladiator could feel it clearly, “I won,” Leo said quietly, and he was looking down, his eyelashes casting a shadow on his cheeks, “That means I can ask for anything I want from you.”

“And what do you want?” Frank asked, voice low even though he and Leo were alone. The Prince looked up at him shyly in a way that should’ve been illegal.

“You,” he whispered.

Frank was only mortal and although he had been trained since childhood to have a will of iron right now he broke, because of one boy. He leaned down and cradled Leo’s face in his hands the way the boy had done before; in turn the Prince’s arms slid around Frank’s shoulders. They both pulled each other close, crashing their mouths together, kissing desperately. Frank had previously been satisfied just by kissing the Prince, with his soft lips and submission, but now the desire for more brewed in his body. His stomach felt tight and it filled with heat when he felt Leo’s soft breath brush against his mouth.

He was so small and it was almost too easy for Frank to lift him off his feet. As he hoisted Leo up the boy wrapped his legs around the Gladiator’s waist and Frank could only hope that Leo didn’t feel weak due to their new position, though he didn’t seem to since his arms tightened around Frank’s neck and he just kissed him harder. Desperation tinged their kisses, their tongues sliding together, mouths pressing together hungrily.

Frank didn’t know what Leo wanted to do right now, but he also knew that whatever was happening, he didn’t want to rush it. He turned around with Leo still in his arms and pressed the boy against the closest wall, forcefully slowing down their kisses. They licked into each other’s mouths leisurely and their pace decreased gradually until eventually it was only their lips moving against each other softly. Eventually they stopped kissing all together, their mouths inches apart, noses brushing together. They basked in each other’s presence as the realisation of the fact that both of them were alive and safe washed over them. In this position Leo had an inch on Frank, and their usual extreme height difference was reduced so they could press together perfectly.

“What do you want Leo?” Frank asked in a whisper, his lips brushing against Leo’s with every word.

“I thought I had made myself clear,” Leo teased with a soft smile. Frank shifted closer into the boy, parting his legs further, and his stomach pressed into the boy’s crotch. He was pleased at the gasp he elicited from the Prince and the blood that rushed to his face. They looked at each other, tension crackling between them, but not the awkward kind. Leo’s eyes burned with what Frank easily identified as desire, though mixed with uncertainty.

The boy leaned forward and cradled Frank’s cheek. The tender gesture was peculiar coming from someone so small and vulnerable like Leo, and yet for a moment Frank felt truly cared for, the feeling a stranger to him, with the boy’s fingers gently brushing against the cut on his cheek. He closed the space between his and Frank’s face and the Gladiator watched him carefully. Leo nudged his nose against Frank’s sweetly and the man tightened his arms around the boy.

They kissed, open-mouthed, seeming to share a mind as they moved together. Emotions that had been nudging at Frank’s consciousness for the months that he spent with Leo became clear in that instant. It wasn’t a gradual realisation, rather it became a flood, rushing through the Gladiator’s entire body.

“I love you,” he whispered, barely audible, his lips brushing against Leo’s. The boy’s eyes fluttered open and he looked at the man for a moment, dazed, before his eyes widened.

“W-What?”

“Nothing,” Frank’s heart jerked in his chest and he pressed Leo harder into the wall, crashing their lips together once more in an attempt to erase what he had just said from Leo’s mind. He meant the words but Leo was clearly not ready to hear them.

“Bed,” Leo commanded suddenly and without thinking the Gladiator pulled away from the wall, still holding the Prince in his arms easily. Normally he had an internal issue with people of power but right now he felt like Leo’s equal, and he _trusted_ him.

There should’ve been a control struggle between the two of them and yet there wasn’t. Frank lowered himself onto the bed, back pressed against the slight rise on the back. The bed itself was narrow in a typical Roman style, but plush with velvety sheets that slid deliciously against Frank’s skin. Leo sunk into his lap like he belonged there, arms looping possessively around Frank’s neck and pulling him in for kiss after kiss, each different but all working to turn the sparks in Frank’s stomach into a raging wildfire. The Gladiator’s hands found the hem of Leo’s tunic and his fingers slid beneath it to trace paths into the boy’s tanned skin. In response the Prince exhaled in pleasure and shifted closer to Frank.

If the moments before this had been harrowing and traumatic, this was the opposite. The two men created a bubble that extended only as far as this bed and excluded the cruel outside world. In this bubble there were no Emperors and no violent fathers, social hierarchies or duties. It was just the two of them, slowly losing themselves in the feeling of each other’s bodies.

Frank pulled off his tunic over his head, discarding it onto the floor. Leo’s eyes slid down to the man’s chest, the same chest that he had seen a million times before. But this time the boy was looking at it differently though. Carefully the Prince lifted his hands and brushed his fingers over Frank’s collarbone. A gentle ridge appeared between his brows as he frowned.

“It’s a lot of scars, I know,” the Gladiator murmured. A small smile appeared on Leo’s face.

“Actually I was admiring the muscles,” he said mischievously, but his fingers trailed down to a long scar a few shades darker than Frank’s skin, stretching from under his heart all the way across to his navel. The Prince’s fingertips danced down the scar and Leo shivered at his gentle touch, “But you do have a lot of scars. I’m sorry for giving you another one. On your face, too,” he winced.

“It’s alright my face was never my strong feature anyway,” Frank said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. He only succeeded in making Leo’s frown deeper.

“That’s not true,” he whispered.

“My face isn’t very...Roman,” was all Frank said, wanting to change the subject. He had Leo in his lap and he simply wanted to concentrate on that. But the Prince clearly wasn’t having it because he gripped the Gladiator’s face in his hands tightly.

“That’s not true,” he said firmly, “I like your face. A lot,” a blush appeared on his cheeks and Frank smiled, “I’m serious. I really like your face. And your body. Your personality is decent as well, I suppose.”

Frank cracked a grin and brushed Leo’s curls from his forehead. The boy nuzzled his hand as if he were a cat, “I like your face too,” he reached for Leo’s tunic but the boy abruptly caught his hands and uncertainty flickered over his face, “Leo,” Frank said quietly.

The boy guided his hands down, beneath his tunic and it was clear he was embarrassed to bare himself to Frank. The man had often questioned why the boy didn’t take his clothes off when they trained, even when he got sweaty and uncomfortable. Frank didn’t understand why the boy was insecure but he didn’t have time to think about it, because he found that Leo wasn’t wearing any undergarments beneath his tunic.

Frank’s hands grabbed at the surprisingly firm and round globes of Leo’s arse, harder than he intended, the boy’s skin warm in his hands. The Prince shifted and bit his lip, hands resting on Frank’s shoulders. He looked simultaneously aroused and embarrassed, but he didn’t protest as Frank hesitantly squeezed his backside. It felt good, to have Leo close and to be touching him.

“You’ve gone quiet,” Frank said, because the Prince wasn’t looking at him and the Gladiator was afraid that he had changed his mind about whatever they were doing here.

“What a-am I supposed t-to say when you’re...,” he paused to take a shaky breath, rearranging himself in Frank’s lap so his crotch slotted against the Gladiator’s. The man had to fight to ignore the hardness pressed against his cock, which twitched with interest, “Y-You’re touching me like that, I never...I-I don’t know how to act.”

Frank didn’t know what to tell him but he knew he just wanted to see all the different expressions the boy could make and drink them up like wine. Slowly he allowed his hands to shift on the boy’s arse, his fingers slipping between the cheeks. The only indication that Leo felt that was his sharp intake of breath but otherwise he didn’t acknowledge it.

Frank drew one hand free and dragged the boy close for a wet kiss as his fingers brushed over the boy’s puckered hole. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing – Leo’s body was nothing like a woman’s – but he knew that he wanted to be inside the boy, to connect with him completely. He knew he’d have to prepare the boy, because right then he promised himself he would never hurt him again.

When he tried to push his finger inside Leo though the boy hissed, “No, it won’t work like that,” he mumbled, “Take the oil,” he pointed to the urn next to the bed, beautifully painted and mysterious looking in the light from the braziers on the wall. Frank raised an eyebrow,

“Why do you have oil next to your bed?”

“Take a wild guess,” Leo said, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

***

Frank had been Leo’s opponent earlier that night though it felt like it had been years since then. The faint memory of their fight still hung in Leo’s mind and he really shouldn’t have felt as safe as he did in the arms of the man who had tried to harm him. And yet he did; Frank’s muscles shifted against Leo’s sides where the man held him, and Leo knew first-hand how deadly those muscles were – Frank could’ve probably killed him with their one flex. But the way he held Leo was so tender and gentle that fear didn’t even cross Leo’s mind.

He should’ve been scared. Leo spent a large part of his life scared: scared of his father, scared of blood, scared of fighting, scared of disappointing his family. But here, in another man’s arms, about to trust him completely, fear was the last thing he felt. Anxiety, nerves, anticipation, excitement were all things that rolled over his body, accompanied by overwhelming desire.

“I can take it, come on,” Leo whispered, grinding back against Frank’s hand. He was glad for the nights he spent in a feverishly lustful stupor, pushing his own fingers into himself and guiltily washing afterwards, because now Frank’s own fingers inside him didn’t feel too alien. He tried to keep his voice and hands steady – he was deathly afraid of showing any kind of weakness and he knew that he needed to keep himself together right now. The feeling of Frank’s fingers inside him, thick and calloused, made him want to cry out and cling onto the Gladiator but he managed to keep himself together, teeth biting down on his bottom lip.  

Another thing that made him uncomfortable was the Gladiator’s eyes on him, intense and unwavering. No matter how many times Leo told the other man to stop staring at him the man refused. As he slowly worked Leo, driving the boy crazy, he remained perfectly sober and the fact that he could see every little twitch of Leo’s expression was making the boy self-conscious.

“Stop it,” Frank said suddenly.

“S-Stop what?” Leo panted, thrusting back against the man’s fingers.

“Every time you almost allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure you stop yourself, like you’re holding back.”

“I’m not,” Leo lied. Frank twisted his fingers inside the boy and the tips bumped against something inside Leo that made a whine claw up his throat, though he never let it spill out, instead clamping his mouth shut and squeezing his eyes briefly.

“See! You’re doing it now!” Frank interjected, outraged.

“Shut up,” Leo growled. It was like an old couple fighting, mid-way through sex. Sex. Labelling this situation made the Prince blush. Frank grabbed his chin and forced Leo to look directly at him.

“Stop holding back,” he murmured. In reply Leo allowed his upper body to fall forward, burying his face in Frank’s neck. The man’s skin was slightly sweaty and very warm, and the Gladiator’s musky smell calmed him down. He kissed him there and in response Frank’s fingers thrust inside him harder. Leo allowed himself to let out a quiet moan, because holding it back proved too hard.

“Hearing you like that makes me hard,” Frank said hoarsely and Leo shivered, squeezing his eyes shut before pulling away from the man’s neck.

“Don’t say stupid things like that.”

“Can you take this off?” Frank asked, tugging on Leo’s tunic and ignoring his previous remark. Leo was about to shake his head but then he paused; he was about to give himself completely to Frank and foolishly that didn’t make him uncomfortable and yet simply being naked around him did. He had to change that.

With trembling fingers Leo grasped his tunic and pulled it over his head as Frank pulled his hand from the boy’s arse. The Prince grasped the tunic in his hands against his stomach, bunched up, and averted his eyes as he felt Frank’s gaze on him. _Stop being self-conscious, stop being self-conscious_ , Leo told himself but it was hard especially when Frank was so close to him looking so gorgeous with his dark eyes and dark hair and perfect body, and Leo was all the things he wasn’t supposed to be-

Frank leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Leo’s chest, to the skin right above his pounding heart. The boy opened his mouth but he couldn’t get any words out as his stomach clenched and he trembled and for some reason unknown to him; he wanted to cry. The gesture was so sweet and gentle, and Frank cradled Leo close as if he was something precious. The Prince slid his fingers through the Gladiator’s hair.

“Frank,” he murmured, tugging him upwards. The man surged up and kissed him, urgent and desperate.

“You’re so-,” he started but then cut off, letting out a groan of frustration. Leo’s cock throbbed in reply. He hadn’t intended for this to happen; he enjoyed kissing Frank and that’s all he had wanted tonight. But now he knew it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough.

Leo’s hand slipped underneath Frank’s loincloth so he could touch his member. He did so confidently even though he had never touched another man – or woman for the matter – there. Frank groaned when Leo’s fingers brushed against his hot, hard erection. The boy felt his desire flare when he felt the man twitch in his hand and when Leo gave him a stroke Frank dragged him closer, his arm wrapping entirely around the boy’s waist. He pressed his face into the Prince’s neck and he kissed him there, making Leo shiver. The boy’s desire took control over him and when he looked down he saw his own cock, curved against his flat, tanned stomach. He undid Frank’s loincloth with trembling hands to reveal the other man’s member, and it made his stomach knot and his length twitch. Frank’s cock was just like the rest of him – long, thick, and gorgeous. Leo wasn’t disgusted or intimidated the way he thought he might be, instead stroking it gently before shifting his hips closer and grasping both their cocks together.

“A-Ah...,” the feeling of his sensitive member pressing against Frank’s throbbing hardness made Leo’s thighs shake. It was a feeling unlike anything he ever experienced before and Leo already knew that he wouldn’t last long. Frank scrambled for the oil that they had discarded next to the bed, pouring some onto his hand and drizzling it over their two members, before burying his face back in Leo’s neck.

For a moment he lost himself, head falling forward slightly, curls tumbling into his eyes as he let out a quiet moan, narrow shoulders trembling. Frank pulled away from the boy’s neck, his breath coming out harsh, and he pressed his forehead against Leo’s.

“You’re beautiful.”

Leo’s hand stilled where it had been stroking and his eyes snapped open. He froze, tensed, and pulled away. His heart felt as if it had fallen out of its rhythm and he just looked at Frank, at loss for words. The man looked sincere and a little dazed but Leo didn’t believe his words. Nobody had ever told him anything except how disappointing he was so now this...

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Frank frowned. Leo opened his mouth, then closed it again, and looked down. His heart pounded.

Gently, Frank pulled Leo flush against him and with painful tenderness he cradled Leo’s face in his hands, before kissing him. It was unlike their previous kisses, softer, more careful and contrasting the hardness of his cock that had slipped beneath Leo and now pressed against his arse. The Prince knew exactly what he wanted, and it was clear Frank wanted the same. Leo reached behind himself, and his hand gripped the man’s member in his hand. He bit his lip as he felt its size once more and lifted himself ever so slightly. His eyes were locked on Frank’s, and the Gladiator looked back at him intensely, gaze unwavering. It was a good excuse to avoid Frank’s statement, however he also desperately wanted the Gladiator inside him because the heat inside him threatened to overflow.

The oil that still covered Frank’s cock slicked up Leo’s arse, and he bit his lip as his stomach twisted in anticipation. He lifted himself up slightly and felt the wet head of the Gladiator’s member rub against his entrance. Almost on accident it suddenly slipped inside. Leo gasped, his mouth falling open. Frank had prepared him well and only a slight burn accompanied the breach, but it caught Leo off guard and his trembling hips gave up on him so Leo sank completely into Frank’s lap, losing his balance and engulfing the Gladiator’s cock completely.

He hadn’t meant to do that and he cried out as a shot of pain and shock went through his body, forcing him to tense up and clench around Frank. The man groaned and his hands shot out to grip Leo’s hips. The boy panted as pain washed over him, hugging himself and leaning forward to rest his forehead against Frank’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, his erection growing soft.

“Leo...Leo,” Frank whispered urgently, his grip on the boy slackening and one of his hands coming up to rest against the boy’s warm back. The Prince fought a sob but he didn’t want Frank to see him like this.

“I-I’m fine,” he gritted out.

In response Frank enveloped him in his arms and stroked his skin, pressing wet, messy kisses to his neck and shoulder, “I’ll wait,” he whispered hoarsely, “as long as you need, love.”

It was the first time he had called Leo anything of that manner and the softness of his voice made the boy relax slightly, which caused the pain of being penetrated to subdue into more of a bearable burn.

“You’re beautiful,” Frank said again, but it was a clear distraction. He pushed at Frank’s chest weakly.

“S-Shut up,” he whispered, eyes still closed. He could take it, he simply needed a moment. Frank nudged him delicately with his shoulder, forcing Leo to pull away from it, though he refused to look at his partner. Frank’s arms tightened around Leo, and the boy felt tiny against the Gladiator. His arms were strong, and he was like a mountain.

“I mean it,” Frank murmured, “and you feel insanely good.”

Leo wrapped his arms around Frank’s shoulders for leverage, deciding that he needed to silence the man in some way. He followed his instinct and he lifted his hips slowly, allowing Frank’s cock to slide from him a little, before he gently lowered himself back down. It still burned but Leo gritted his teeth and bore it somehow.

Frank on the other hand lost it a little. His breathing intensified and his eyes fluttered closed, a low moan of pleasure coming from his mouth as Leo rode him slowly, taking his time. Frank’s member inside him felt odd but as Leo grew accustomed to the feeling he decided it wasn’t all that bad and Frank’s obvious pleasure made it better and it spurred Leo on so his movements became faster and more confident. Soon he was bouncing in the Gladiator’s wrap, taking his cock completely, his curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. His body tensed and his thighs ached and yet he continued to ride Frank, just wanting the man to climax, not caring about himself.

But Frank clearly cared as he leaned forward and kissed him passionately, one of his arms wrapped around Leo’s lower back while his free hand fondled Leo’s cock. Pleasure went through Leo like a shiver as he felt himself stirring once more, his rhythm stuttering. His back arched and he leaned back slightly, pulling Frank with him so their bodies aligned better.

Frank shifted and his cock slammed into something inside Leo that made the boy cry out suddenly, his vision blurring for a second as a shot of ecstasy went through him. He seated himself in Frank’s lap and remained there, his legs shaking too much to try and move.

“L-Leo?” Frank asked breathlessly, his cock twitching in Leo. Slowly, hesitantly the Prince lifted himself once more and pushed back down, and Frank’s member pushed against that magical spot inside him.

“Oh Gods,” Leo moaned and slapped a hand against his mouth so he could bite his palm and hold himself together. His cock woke to full hardness and suddenly there was a threat of him tumbling over the edge too fast.

Frank pushed him backwards onto the bed suddenly, and Leo’s world shifted as the man grabbed one of his legs and threw it over his shoulder easily. Leo had time to inhale sharply before Frank thrust roughly into him. The boy’s toes curled and he moaned, head falling back as he was suddenly assaulted by pleasure. Frank didn’t speed up but kept his thrusts deep and hard, hitting that spot inside Leo over and over, until tears prickled at the Prince’s eyes.

“F-Frank,” he whispered helplessly.

The man, himself lost in pleasure, pressed his cheek against Leo’s leg and his thrusts stuttered. They came simultaneously, Frank’s thrusts faltering and Leo’s back arching. The Prince’s world went white and he lost awareness for a moment as he reached his climax. 

When he finally became aware of his body again he found that Frank was still sheathed inside him, his hand stroking Leo’s face gently. The boy’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up to see Frank hovering over him, eyes dark and like two pools of soft shadows. The wound Leo had inflicted on him earlier was a dark line on his cheek.

“Leo,” he murmured and didn’t say anything else. Leo smiled faintly.

“I’m alright stop looking so worried.”

Frank’s hand stilled and he carefully withdrew his soft cock from Leo’s passage, “The kisses,” he said suddenly and Leo’s mind struggled to follow his quiet words, “that I asked for...they were never meant as a punishment for you. They were a reward for me, and I simply needed an excuse to take what I wanted.”

“You don’t need any excuses now,” Leo murmured, and his leg slid off Frank’s shoulder. He didn’t care if he was completely naked beneath the man now, the afterglow of his ecstasy leaving him feeling boneless and blissed out.

“Do I need an excuse to justify that I’m in love with you?” Frank asked, and his eyes held an edge of pain in them. Leo didn’t want him to hurt ever again. Although it took a lot of effort he sat up, slumping lightly against Frank and hugging himself into the man. His warmth and sturdiness brought comfort to him.

“You don’t need one,” Leo whispered, “but if you insist on looking the fact that I’m a wonderful human being is a good enough excuse.”

He heard Frank chuckle but the Gladiator quickly grew serious, nudging Leo away so he could look at him. He seemed to enjoy that – just looking at Leo. Nobody had ever wanted to look at him before.

“You’re gorgeous,” Frank said, “and you’re strong, no matter what anyone says. You proved that you’re a good fighter but even if you weren’t I still think you’re wonderful.”

Leo cracked a weak grin, not wanting to get emotional, “Who knew that you were so soft underneath all that muscle?” he teased, but Frank didn’t smile. He remained silent for a moment before,

“You’re not going to say it back, are you?” he asked suddenly, softly. Leo’s heart clenched and he looked at Frank. He wanted to, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth. It was too much, too fast. Frank dropped his gaze.

“Frank I-,” Leo reached out to him.

“It’s fine,” he murmured, jerking away from the boy’s hand, “I’m just a slave after all,” he slid off the bed and reached for his tunic.

“Don’t say that,” Leo said passionately, “You know that isn’t true!”

“I should see the new Emperor and see what my fate it,” Frank said, all professional and cold. It made Leo’s heart hurt and yet he couldn’t move, couldn’t stop the Gladiator. Tears welled up in his eyes as Frank strode to the door. He was weak after all, too weak to admit to his own feelings. But it was so hard, and to an extent he didn’t believe Frank’s words. He had always been told he was unlovable so why would such a breathtaking person ever want him?

The doors closed behind Frank with a soft sound and the wind outside slipped in through the open windows and brushed the curtains. It would be dawn soon, but exactly when Leo was unsure. On shaking legs he climbed off the bed and crept across the room. The braziers had almost gone out and the shadows here were deep. Leo touched the door that Frank had just left through, and then pressed his forehead against it, closing his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered under his breath, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

**4 th Sextilis 192AD (The next day)**

“I can’t stay here,” Leo repeated. Jake, who had been pacing across the office that once belonged to their father, offered Leo a disapproving glance.

“Where do you want to go?” he growled. Leo shrugged.

“I don’t know. But I don’t belong here.”

Jake stopped walking and sighed, turning to his little brother. He seemed to have aged ten years since the previous night and the burden of being emperor would soon be his.

“Father’s dead, Leo,” Jake said softly, placing a hand on the other Prince’s shoulder, “I’m not going to penalize you for anything. You can do as you please about the palace, you don’t have to fight or go to Gladiator fights-“

Leo stepped back, “I just don’t want to be here,” he said desperately, “This palace holds nothing but painful memories for me and it never felt like home. I want peace, Jake, and safety. I want to create things in a home where there are no guards whispering about me.”

“But I need you here,” Jake said, and for the first time since Leo remembered there was fear in his voice, “I don’t know how to be an Emperor.”

Leo smiled, “Yes you do, and you’ll be a brilliant one. Besides, you have Nyssa and Beck and the others. You’ll be fine without me.”

“Where would you go?”

“There’s a villa father owned just outside Aquileia.”

“Aquileia?!” Jake demanded, “That’s days of travel away!”

“I want to get away,” Leo said softly. His brother’s shoulders slumped.

“I won’t keep you here by force but I don’t want you to go.”

“I know, I wouldn’t want me to go either,” Leo said with a grin, “I’ll visit. A lot. I promise.”

Jake nodded, “I will ensure you have everything you need in the villa. I’ll send servants there.”

“Thank you, brother,” Leo murmured, relief filling his body. He hated Rome, hated being locked in this palace, in this city, where blood ran down the streets for the entertainment of the people, “One more thing. I have a favour to ask.”

“Anything,” Jake said immediately.

“Frank, my trainer,” Leo felt himself blush just remembering the man and what they did the previous night, “pay his master enough to buy his freedom, as father promised him.”

“Of course,” Jake said.

“A-And...,” Leo swallowed, “and when you do can you offer him a-a job? In my villa, as a guard? Only if he wants to.”

A faint smile appeared on Jake’s face but disappeared almost immediately “I will tell him your proposition.”

Leo returned to his bedroom and looked around it. This had been his save haven from his father for many years and yet the boy was glad he would leave it behind soon. Hopefully with Frank, if the man decided that he had truly meant his previous words.

The Prince walked to the corner of his room where beneath the sheet he stored all his contraptions and machines that he had made over the years. He began to rifle through them, decided which ones he would want taken to Aquileia, while contemplating how he would say his goodbyes to his siblings. He hated to leave them here but he knew that he had to experience something different to life than governing a whole empire, gladiator fights and executions. He wanted to see the sea and watch the Olympics and go to festivals. He wanted a happy life, and he wanted a happy life for Frank as well, though that didn’t necessarily mean a life with him. Leo couldn’t see how he could ever be useful or desirable to Frank in the long term.

“So you’re already packing?”

The sudden voice startled Leo and he jerked around, heart pounding. He had lost himself in his work, picking apart some older projects so he could hold onto some materials, and hadn’t noticed how much time had passed. The light in the room had turned amber with the setting sun.

“Frank,” Leo exhaled, “Don’t you know how to knock?”

The Gladiator was leaning against the wall next to the closed door, and Leo had no idea how long he had been there, watching. Simply being in the man’s presence again made his insides feel like molten lava, and he didn’t know whether he wanted a repeat of last night, or more of Frank’s sweet words and kisses.

“I am a freedman,” the Gladiator said, ignoring Leo’s question.

Leo’s stomach twisted. So Frank had spoken to Jake, “T-That’s...That’s amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Frank replied, expression softening. He pushed himself off the wall and closed the space between him and Leo, cradling the boy’s face in his hands before the Prince even had time to react. The now ex-Gladiator leaned down and kissed him and the simple feel of Frank’s mouth on his made Leo ecstatic.

“I thought you were angry at me,” he whispered when Frank drew away.

“I was. I am,” Frank frowned and his thumbs subconsciously stroked the boy’s cheeks, “but you’re irresistible, and I’m too in love with you.” Leo’s heart stuttered at how easily Frank said that, as if it was in his nature to love the Prince. He couldn’t collect himself in time to reply but Frank seemed to have expected that as his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and his hands slid from Leo’s cheeks to his neck. His skin was warm, “Your brother relayed to me your offer. About coming to Aquileia with you.”

“A-And?” Leo asked eagerly, aware that perhaps travelling to the other side of the country and living with him was not what Frank wanted with his newly acquired freedom. The smile spreading across the man’s face said otherwise.

“Of course I’ll come,” he said softly, pressing his forehead against Leo’s and pulling him close by the waist. Leo didn’t remember when the man had gotten so affectionate, “I’ll kiss you every day until you fall in love with me,” he murmured.

“I suppose I’m not getting any kisses then,” Leo whispered, standing on his tiptoes and nuzzling against Frank, “because I’m already in love with you.”

Frank’s head slid to Leo’s shoulder and he exhaled, slumping against the Prince. He was heavy and the boy almost lost his balance, “Couldn’t you have said that last night?” Frank growled in annoyance, “It would save me a sleepless night.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you couldn’t sleep because of me?” Leo teased, because his heart was beating so fast and he was feeling so many emotions that he had to hide behind his humour.

“As infuriating as you are, I’ve never been happier,” Frank admitted, and his words made Leo stop talking. He nudged the man away from him so they could press their lips together.

The kiss was slow, soft, almost apologetic. Frank stroked Leo’s hair, and the Prince stroked his face in return, and as they tumbled back onto the narrow bed Leo couldn’t help but hope that it would be like this forever.

**2 nd Junius 197AD (5 years later)**

**Aquileia, Rome**

The live-size metallic structure of the horse towered over Leo, its torso made of wires and metal and scraps. The hot sunshine shone through the holes in the structure and Leo wiped sweat off his forehead, pleased at his project. The sound of the fountain close by soothed the boy and he glanced around his garden. It was beautiful and in full bloom in the height of summer, the green, dashed with bright colours, making a beautiful contrast to the pure white Villa.

Leo stepped backwards to regard his horse, and he walked right into a pair of warm, strong arms that automatically wrapped around him. The boy smiled and leaned back against the hard chest at his back, feeling a chin rest on top of his head.

“Hello,” he said. A kiss was placed on the crown of his head.

“I like your horse,” Frank said, turning Leo in his arms. The boy grinned brightly when he saw the man he was in love with look down at him with gentle, dark eyes.

“I like your face,” Leo replied, heart warm with love, “How was teaching the young ones?”

“They’re better than what you were like at the start,” Frank teased. Leo rolled his eyes.

“You’re such an arse.”

Just as he leaned up for one more kiss, the sound of excited squeals forced him to step out of his lover’s arms. Just in time too because just then a group of over excited children came around the corner of the villa, spilling into the garden. There was a dozen of them, aged from eight to eleven summers old. They were the sons and daughters of the lords and ladies of Aquileia that had been sent to Leo so he could train them. Surprisingly the news of him beating a Gladiator had spread and Leo become a respected and trusted member of the upper class in Aquileia as Jake allowed him to retain his title as a Prince.

“Leo! Leo!” the children yelled over each other, rushing to the man to grab at his legs, their beaming faces looking up at the Prince, “We did well today Leo! Master Frank said we did well!”

Leo exchanged a smile with the ex-Gladiator, who smiled back.

“Well I’m incredibly proud of you,” Leo told them and the children squealed in delight before their Latin teacher came out into the courtyard in a huff and rushed them off to their other studies, leaving Leo and Frank alone in the gardens once more.

Leo looked around to make sure nobody was around before stepping to Frank and kissing him. The servants of the Villa knew about the nature of the relationship between the two but Leo had hand-picked them and knew that they all accepted it and could be trusted to keep it a secret. He simply didn’t want the children to see.

“I’m going upstairs to change,” Frank murmured, tucking one of Leo’s curls behind his ear.

“Alright,” the Prince smiled, “I’ll finish up here and we can maybe go down to the river?”

Frank smiled pleasantly, “Sounds like the best thing that came out of your mouth all day.”

“I love you,” Leo replied with a grin. Frank kissed him with a sudden passion.

“I changed my mind, _that_ was the best thing that came out of your mouth all day.”

“Are you not going to say it back?” Leo teased. Frank kissed his forehead.

“No,” he said cheerfully. Leo rolled his eyes fondly and as he watched the love of his life walk into their villa he once again decided that the decision to come here was a good one.


	2. The Price of Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Viking's bring down the Kingdom of Northumbria and their Chief, Zeus, demands that the young Prince is given to him as a hostage. To reward his own son, Jason, for his prowess in battle, Zeus gifts him the boy in hope that Jason will defile him. Instead Jason falls in love with Percy.  
> 

**669 Years Later**

**1 st Gormánuður 866AD**

**Kingdom of Northumbria, England.**

Zeus the Boneless was known and feared all across England, and even across Europe, his name whispered around campfires and in inns, some voices laced with admiration, all of them laced with fear. He and his army of Danes were known as thugs and ruffians – they came from Danemark on long boats - pillaging English villages, setting them on fire and stealing animals and women. Ever since Zeus’ son, Jason, had turned eight and ten and proven himself in battle the Danes became even more feared. Seven decades ago the Vikings first invaded and since then they had pillaged the shores of East Anglia, exhausting the people who lived there. Poseidon, the King of Northumbria, one of the last free kingdoms in England, tried to push back the Danes but their violence and embrace of glory of death made them dangerous and unpredictable.

But Poseidon had always been sure that Northumbria would persevere – the high walls surrounding the Northern kingdom were impenetrable by the savage Vikings who had no means of getting through the thick barricades. That’s why the King never sent his daughters away inland. He wished he had, he wished he hadn’t been blinded by his own pride and confidence, because the walls of Northumbria were due to fall some day.

And that day came.

After the Kingdom was ravaged by a savage winter and a cruel civil war, their defences were weak and the Danes took full advantage of that. Despite the Northumbrians unifying and fighting back fiercely it was too late and they were unprepared for an attack so fast after the snowfall. Poseidon, the ever-proud leader, grovelled at the feat of Zeus the Boneless, begging for mercy for the lives of his young daughters and his son.

And Zeus, the barbaric leader he was, agreed to spare Poseidon’s daughters. However the night that the Northumbrian king sent the girls away, desperate and terrified, Zeus presented him with a request. A request that was unneeded, demanded simply to shame Poseidon and his whole bloodline. The Danes already had Northumbria and were preparing for a siege of Mercia but Zeus enjoyed power too much to simply kill Poseidon and move on. No – he wanted to take something from the man that would sting more than the kiss of a blade on his neck.

He demanded his youngest and last surviving son and heir, Perseus.

And Poseidon agreed.

**19 th Ýlir 886AD (19 days later)**

Perseus was shoved forward again, painful, rough hands digging into his shoulder blades. As if the height and physique of the two Danes leading him wasn’t intimidating enough, Percy had his hands tied behind his back. It filled him with shame as he was led through the Danish village, people standing in doorways of huts openly staring and jeering at him. He was only six and ten, and although tall and moderately muscular for a Northumbrian, he was slight and breakable when set next to the bulky Danish men. Percy had no illusions as to why he was here – he wasn’t a royal hostage, the Vikings were too primitive to believe in that. He had been sold to them as a simple slave – no, not sold, willingly given by his own father - and, if the dread pooling in Percy’s stomach was anything to go by, he had an inkling of exactly what _kind_ of slave he was going to be.

Percy kept his eyes right ahead of him, not meeting people’s eyes but not looking at the ground either. The piercing cold slipped through his thin clothing and he fought a shiver. He might’ve been shamed, dressed in a simple long white shirt and brown breeches rather than his usual luxurious clothing, and his hands might’ve been tied behind his back, but Percy was still a prince and he still had pride. Despite the sneering Danes that slid from shadows surrounding campfires like demons, Percy kept calm. Fear had curled in his bowels like a serpent but the boy refused to let it show, the same way he refused to let it show when his kingdom was under siege. He would get through this in order to preserve his people, and he’d do it for his sisters and his cowardly father, no matter what the Danes made him do.

Looking at all the men, more resembling mountains than people, Percy had to fight a shudder. He couldn’t help but be simultaneously terrified and glad – if it weren’t for him Zeus the Boneless would’ve undoubtedly sent his sisters here and whatever was to happen to Percy the boy knew he’d be able to handle it better than his much younger and purer sisters, who would not preserve here. Percy knew he was a sinner – he drank, he slept around with tavern girls and, most importantly, he killed on the battlefield. No amount of confession would ever wipe his soul clean of that deadly sin but maybe Percy could use this imprisonment among strangers as a form of repentance.

“Move faster, Northumbrian,” one of the Danes spat and Percy’s nationality sounded like an insult in his mouth. The boy gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t react to the taunt. He had to remain strong for as long as possible. He tried to focus on the last conversation he had had with his father. He could envision the man’s wrinkled, tired face, the one that looked like it had aged fifty years in the days after Northumbria’s fall. _You have to remain strong, Perseus, for your sisters and for our Kingdom. You are a Prince, remember that, the Danes would not dare harm you._

Percy believed that...at first. But after the rough treatment he got from his escorts he was beginning to doubt himself. The huge Vikings seemed to have no morals or rules, drunkards spilling through the pathways between huts. Percy tried to focus on his surroundings but all the homes looked the same – nothing like the strong, sturdy stone castles that Percy had grown up in, where rich tapestries hung from walls and winds snuck in through every crevice, Percy had no idea what to expect from the Danes. Apart from the fact that he understood their language he knew nothing about their culture and way of life.

Finally a large hut emerged among the smaller, more rundown ones. It had two stories, the circular roof packed with straw. Two Danes stood outside the door, a fire burning in front of them, a pot over the flames with some kind of foul smelling stew bubbling inside.

“Who goes there?” one of the Danes barked, peering at the darkness past the fire. Percy couldn’t distinguish between the two guards and the two men who had escorted him here. To him all Vikings looked the same – bulky, hairy and inhumane.

“We have the Chief’s new whore,” one of the Danes growled, and his comrade laughed low in his throat. The hair on Percy’s arms stood on end and he tried not to show his fear show as the guards allowed the other Danes to shove him through the door of the hut.

Inside it was dark and musky and it smelled like smoke. It was too dark for Percy to make out details and the Danes shoved him on too fast for the boy’s eyes to adjust to the sudden dimness, so he was completely lost to his surroundings. They went down a corridor, then another, and suddenly Percy found himself in a small back room that must’ve been some kind of forgery. A fire roared in the pit, and several weapons ranging from crude daggers to chill-inducing double edged axes, hung off the walls, half finished.

There were two men in this room – the older one with a snowy white beard twisted into two braids Percy recognised immediately as Zeus the Boneless – the man who had ‘bought’ him though his father had gotten no payment for his youngest son apart from his own, despicable life.  The leader’s eyes were dark and stormy and detached as if he weren’t quite human. His hands were the sizes of dinner plates and he towered tall, dwarfing the room. The other man was much younger, perhaps only several summers older than Percy. He looked different from the other Danes, perhaps because he was clean-shaven. His straw golden hair gleamed in the glow from the fire, shaved at the sides in the typical Dane fashion and braided at the top. His youthful face was red and wet with sweat as he swung at the sword on the slab of stone in front of him, hitting it with a hammer and filling the room with sparks and dull grating sounds. His physique was similar to the older man’s, though less dramatic – he was broad and muscular, several inches taller than Percy himself. When he looked up his eyes revealed themselves to be the colour of a spring sky, bright and sparkling.

“Ah,” Zeus the Boneless slid off the thick leather gloves he had been wearing and turned to Percy with the smile of a predator ready to pounce. The boy fought the urge to flinch away from his animalistic gaze and stood strong and straight, “The Northumbrian Prince. How do you do your Majesty?” he asked, mock-bowing.

“It would please me if your men untied me,” Percy said coolly, calmly. Zeus let out a bawdy laugh,

“Why, untie the boy,” he commanded the Danes, “he has nowhere to run anyway.”

The Vikings roughly reached behind Percy, pulling on his arms and causing jolts of agony to go through the boy’s stiff limbs. They didn’t fail to chaff his wrists in their rough movements as they forcefully slid the rough hempen rope from his hands. Percy felt hot blood drip to his fingers but he wouldn’t show his pain, not to these fiends.

“Leave us,” Zeus barked, and with a slight hesitation the two Danes hurried out. Percy didn’t know whether he should feel more confident or more afraid now that there were only the three of them left in the room. The blond Viking had followed the elders example and slid his own leather gloves from his hands, watching Percy with an unreadable expression, “What is your name _boy?”_ Zeus asked gruffly, his tone insulting to Percy.

“It is not boy,” the Prince replied insolently, “It’s Prince Perseus.”

“Well, Prince Perseus,” a cold kind of amusement shimmered in Zeus’ eyes, “Do you know why you are here?”

“I am to be your hostage in return for my father’s and sisters’ lives,” Percy said calmly, clenching his hands into fists at his sides, causing the blood that had gathered there to drip to the wooden floor. Zeus laughed again.

“Not quite, not quite,” he grumbled, almost to himself, rubbing his beard as he turned to the blond Dane, “Jason, come here boy.”

 _Jason,_ a shock went through Percy, _that’s his son._ Percy knew enough about both of them to knew that his fear was justified.

“This is Jason, my only child,” Zeus said proudly, pulling the boy to him and re-affirming Percy’s realisation. The man turned completely to his son, ignoring Percy, “Jason, you are a pride to the Danes, and to our ancestors, and your prowess in battle is exceptional.”

“Thank you, father,” Jason’s voice was measured, and it was warmer than Percy anticipated.

“I have decided to make you a gift of this boy-Prince,” Zeus said and both his and his son’s eyes slid to Percy, who stood there, blood dripping to the wooden floor, “to indulge you and your...cravings. You will make him your whore to show the whole of Northumbria the treatment that awaits them.”

Jason’s eyes shifted and for a moment he looked worried, “I thank you father but it is not necessary. I have Ketillaug...”

“You are not marrying that girl until the summer,” Zeus snapped, clearly displeased with his son’s reaction, “and she will not satisfy you. Take the boy and make him your _whore.”_

“Father I-,” Jason looked conflicted, glancing at Percy, who was vaguely aware that his shoulders had began to tremble through his fear. _I can’t do this, I can’t do this..._ he told himself. He wasn’t ready to be raped...hell, he would never be. He didn’t deserve this. _No. Stop it._ He had to be strong for his family.

“If you will not have him then every other Dane will,” Zeus growled, “I will pass him around to every guard in the village, and when they are done I shall pass him around again until he dies-“

“I’ll have him, father,” Jason interrupted abruptly, before the panic of reality could fully settle over Percy, “Thank you,” the boy gritted out. Zeus smiled coolly.

“Good lad,” he said, “why don’t you take your new boy up to your house and take the pleasure you deserve?”

***

Jason walked in silence with the Northumbrian Prince – Perseus – cursing his father internally. Why did the chief always have to interfere with Jason’s personal matters? The man had thought that him becoming a great warrior would be enough to please his father but for some reason Zeus was determined to making Jason the roughest, most violent Viking known to man. Jason didn’t want that, he just wanted peace and a home and a person to share his heart with. Of course those feelings were unheard of for Vikings who simply lived to wallow in eternal glory in Walhalla after death.

Jason didn’t desire to go to war, and he most definitely didn’t desire to defile this shaking, pale, terrified boy that followed behind him like some spirit. After battle Jason found that the only way for him to return to reality was to have a good old fuck, and his father knew this because he was the exact same way. And yet he couldn’t imagine pinning this terrified, proud Prince down and taking away any of his pride. Jason glanced back at the boy. His wrists were bleeding where they had been tied, and his dark hair fell into his piercing eyes, currently downcast. He seemed resigned to his fate but Jason knew he wouldn’t hurt him until it was completely necessary and his father commanded it. Right now he wanted to ensure that the boy didn’t feel like he had walked into a wolf den which...well, he had.

Jason looked back ahead of him again, picking his way through the dark towards his hut as he gritted his teeth, angered by his father. Zeus wanted Jason’s prowess in battle to extend to his sexual reputation – unlike the other Danes Zeus kept his bedding private. When he did sleep with the Viking women of his village, or some of the whores, he ensured it was in his home and not out in the public like some of the other men liked to do. Jason just didn’t appreciate his comrades knowing his sexual life, but his father disagreed with that. Which was why the Prince of Northumbria was here, as Jason’s personal sex slave. The implications of that were...worrying.

Jason was glad when he finally pushed the door of his home open. The hut was too large for one person, but Zeus had insisted on it. Jason didn’t think he needed it, not until Ketillaug moved in and they could fill the building somehow, but he had it anyway. He let Perseus in through the entry way, a small, dark corridor. The Prince followed him silently, not showing any sign of rebellion or attempting to run. Jason closed the door and walked through the entryway. Normally Viking homes had only one room but Jason was the son of the Chief and he was wealthy, so his house had multiple rooms. He led Perseus to his own bedroom even though most servants and slaves slept in the kitchen or in the kernels with the dogs. Jason simply lacked a better idea. It was dark and cold upon entrance so Jason hurried to the pit and coaxed a fire up. In moment a dim golden light danced off the slanted roof, filling the cold room with warmth. Jason’s chamber was quite large with a sizeable bed opposite the pit, and an oaken chest in the corner.

“Listen I-,” Jason started in Danish, turning to Perseus in hope that the boy could understand the language. Jason’s heart jerked in his chest when he saw that the boy was facing him, face tense in anger, a dagger in his hand. It was one of Jason’s as the Viking kept his weapons on the wall by the door, where it would be easy for him to access them in case of a threat. The boy held it in one of his bloodied hands, pointing straight at Jason.

The Vikings first thought was _what are you going to do after you kill me?_ Realistically Perseus was trapped – if he murdered Jason here, if he somehow managed it, his father would go ballistic and a far worse fate would await the Prince than what he was subjected to currently. If Perseus was hoping to escape it would be pointless for Zeus would take his insolence and rebellion as an excuse to murder Poseidon and all of his people. So what was the boy doing?

“Put that down,” Jason said calmly. He had to admit he was impressed by the steadiness of the Prince’s hand and it was clear he had been in battle before. Perseus didn’t say anything but his dark eyes showed how angry he was. Angry and _scared,_ “You won’t kill me so put down the blade.”

“You murdered my brother,” the boy growled, and it was the first time Jason heard him speak. His voice was deeper than he expected, and his accent was Northumbrian even though his Danish was fluent. Jason couldn’t remember ever murdering a Northumbrian Prince.

“I do not recall,” he said calmly, taking a small step towards the boy, trying to seem offhand and not intimidating.

“Your people,” the boy hissed, following Jason with his eyes, “they murdered him.”

Jason remembered suddenly the shouts of celebration when in the siege of Northumbria the eldest son of Poseidon, Tyson, had fallen, “Your brother died in glory on the battlefield,” Jason said, voice measured.

“My brother bled out in agony!” Perseus interrupted, his voice cracking with emotion. Only then did his hand begin to tremble.

“Put down the dagger,” Jason instructed again, hoping desperately the boy would listen.

He didn’t expect Perseus to throw himself at Jason. He had thought the boy had more common sense – he seemed like a sensible person. And yet now emotion ruled him, clearly, and he moved almost against his better judgment, swinging the dagger. But he was temperamental and off-balanced and Jason was bigger and his reflexes were faster. He jerked to the side and dashed forward, missing the blade narrowly and wrapping an arm around the Prince’s middle, shoving him into the closest wall. The boy cried out in surprise and pain and Jason knocked the dagger from his hand. It slid free easily due to the blood still staining the boy’s hands.

Jason’s anger ignited in him suddenly and before he could gather and calm himself his hands found the material of Perseus’ shirt. He lifted the boy off the ground and the Northumbrian’s hands scrambled at Jason’s, trying to get free. He only succeeded in staining his shirt red.

“L-Let go,” he growled, glaring down at Jason. His bravery was impressive.

“Are you a fool?” Jason snarled, hoping that Perseus would be intimidated by the fury radiating off him, “what did you think you were going to accomplish through that?” Perseus didn’t reply, averting his gaze, hand still gripping Jason’s. The blond allowed him to slide back down to his feet and then crowded him in against the wall, wanting to put the boy in his place, “I could take you right now,” he hissed, low, threatening. Perseus flinched, refusing to look at Jason, “I could fuck you against this wall until you were raw and bloody and begging for mercy. I would do it just because you dared to threaten me and turn my own weapons in my direction, in my own house,” the boy’s eyes shifted to the door, which was still open. Jason fought the urge to grip his face and force him to look at him, “What? You want to leave here? Go on,” Jason stepped back, leaving Perseus free way to the door. The Prince glanced at him and hesitated, “I wonder how the other Danes will react to a Northumbrian wandering around, unattended and unprotected. I must warn you that other Vikings will not hesitate to have their way with you. But go, if you’d like.”

Perseus looked at the door and bit his lip. He looked angry, frustrated, scared, unsure. His hands subconsciously came together and his fingers lightly touched the raw skin of his wrists. He winced and allowed his lip to slide from between his teeth. Jason watched him and felt the anger begin to seep out of him. He was angry at himself for exploding like that – of course the boy’s first instinct was to attack his enemy. If Jason had been taken by the Northumbrians he would do the same. Threatening the boy in such a vulgar manner made Jason ashamed. He should have more compassion, though his father would’ve argued that compassion was shameful and a weakness.

“Let me see your wrists,” he said, softer now, walking over to the door and pushing it closed. Perseus cradled his hands to his chest again, and looked like a hurt animal, his eyes glaring at Jason distrustfully.

They couldn’t have looked more different – Jason’s blond hair was longer in the Dane style and golden like the Goddesses Sunna’s, he was taller and muscular in stature. Perseus was completely Northumbrian from his more lithe body to his wavy dark locks. They both had blue eyes but Jason’s were like the sky – crispy and clear and light. Perseus’ were stormier, like the depths of the ocean.

“If you touch me I will slit your throat, I promise to God,” the Northumbrian Prince growled. Jason exhaled. He didn’t have the strength to be angry at the boy so he turned to his bed, wanting to peel his clothes from his skin and rest. He didn’t bother with a bath, and he didn’t bother with Perseus. The boy was free to do as he pleased as far as Jason was concerned. So far he seemed content to remain in the shadowed corner of the bedroom, watching Jason as if he were Hel personified. Jason could feel his intense eyes on his back and he had to try very hard not to turn around as he pushed back the furs on his bed.

“Do you have cloth?” Perseus asked, suddenly, clearly angry at himself for breaking and asking. When Jason turned around to look at him he saw that the boys’ bloodied hands were trembling and his face was tense with pain. The rope had dug deep into his skin and that angered Jason – there was no need for the other Danes to be so rough with the hostage, especially since he had shown no sign of resistance and been nothing but obedient.

“Aye,” Jason let the furs slip from his hands and he turned to the door, “Wait here.”

He could only hope that Perseus didn’t venture past the house, or preferably past Jason’s room. As the blond walked through his dark home he wondered what he would do with his ‘slave.’ He already knew that hurting him was out of the question...at least for now, depending how insolent the boy would get. Jason had no other use for Perseus, he was a nuisance and that was all.

Jason found his way outside into the cold night. The back of his home held a small well and a stone wall that enveloped the Viking village. It was temporary, but better than nothing. Under the cover of the leafless trees and the shadows of the night, Jason was unseen. His boots crunched in the deep snow clinging to the ground. The smell of the cold night was in the air. Jason approached the well and picked up the rusty bucket next to it, tying a rope to the end before lowering the object into the hollow darkness. He listened to the dull sound as it sank beneath the spring water. He could hear the other Danes close by – singing and chanting, dancing and playing instruments, whoring and fucking and drinking, still celebrating the fall of Northumbria. Jason didn’t want to celebrate. Days had passed since the last kingdom had given in to the Vikings, and since then Jason had quenched his bloodthirstiness in battle and found his humanity after bedding a whore, and that was all he required.

He returned to his home with the bucketful of water and easily found his way through the familiar corridors, back to his bedroom. He was a little surprised when he found that Perseus had followed his suggestion and remained in the room. The boy now sat by the fire, one half of his face shadowed, the other bathed in golden light. The blood was beginning to dry on his wrists and he flinched when he heard Jason approaching.

“Don’t worry,” Jason tried to smile though it came out more as a grimace, “It’s only me. I’m not here to harm you,” he placed the bucket close to Perseus, some of the water sloshing over the side. He brought him a cloth and sat opposite the boy at a comfortable distance. He began to tear the cloth into strips as Perseus took a moment of gazing at Jason before he dipped his hands into the bucket. He gritted his teeth in pain when he submerged his wounds in the icy water but didn’t make a sound, gently washing the blood from his skin. Jason laid out the strips of cloth as he tore them and Perseus carefully picked them up, beginning to wrap them around his wrists tentatively with shaking fingers. He tied the bandages off with thread and Jason took the bucket, throwing the soiled water out of the window.

Perseus returned to his dark corner but this time his glare didn’t hold as much heat as before. Jason slid one of the furs from his bed and laid it by the fire pit, away from where he slept in hopes it would make Perseus feel less threatened.

“You can rest here,” he said.

“I don’t trust to sleep in the same room as you,” Perseus growled. Jason sat on the edge of his bed and unlaced his leather boots.

“Feel free to sleep in the corridor. Or outside, where you won’t make it till morning,” he said. Perseus didn’t move from his corner but Jason was too tired to care. The life of a warrior was exhausting. He pushed back the pile of furs on his bed and pulled off his shirt, then pushed down his breeches, climbing into bed completely naked. He didn’t care if Perseus saw – Vikings had no shame.

Jason tried his best to get comfortable and sleep, but it was impossible. He laid still and buried beneath the furs but he was still aware of Perseus’ eyes on him, watching him constantly. The room grew cooler as the fire began to die out in the pit, and only when the shadows in the chamber deepened did the Prince move from the corner. Jason heard the shuffling of the fur on the floor followed by a soft sigh. Several long moments passed before the Viking dared to sit up and look at his hostage.

Perseus’ back was to him, the boy facing the fire pit, laying on the fur, fully clothed, hugging himself. It was protective, it was awkward, but at least he had lied down. Jason exhaled quietly and collapsed back on his bed, curling up on his side and falling into the land of dreams within an eye’s blink.

**20 th Ýlir 886AD (The next day)**

Jason rose after Perseus, which didn’t surprise him. If he were a hostage he wouldn’t trust his enemies enough to sleep late either. The boy sat by the fire pit, which he had got going again, looking exhausted. For once Jason didn’t wake to a cold chamber, and the cackle of fire was a pleasant sound to wake to. It was still dark outside, the late winter sun not quite risen.

Perseus wore the same clothes as the previous night – of course he did, he didn’t have any spare – and his white shirt, tied at the collarbone with a string, looked too cold for this season. Perhaps that was why he had taken the fur he had slept on and wrapped it around himself. He looked like he was drowning in it, and there were dark shadows smudged beneath his eyes, which looked duller than the night before. His dark hair was messy.

“ _Gothan morgun,”_ Jason said to him, voice hoarse from sleep. Perseus looked at him dully before turning to the fire again. Jason hadn’t expected any more as he rose from his bed. He left the furs to be arranged by the servants  – or by Perseus now, he supposed – and walked over to the chest in the corner, naked as the day he was born in order to pick out some clothes for himself – deep forest green tunic and brown trousers, a heavy leather belt and one of his warmest furs that he threw over his shoulders. Perseus watched him, “I’m going to break my fast,” Jason told him, “I believe...I believe it would be best if you remained here for the time being.” _Out of reach of my father,_ he added silently. Perseus didn’t say anything, looking away from Jason. The blond tried not to let it affect him, “Don’t go anywhere.”

The Dane walked out of his home into the dark, crispy, cold morning. The Vikings were on their feet before the sun, even in the summer days, including the children who now ran circles around huts now, chasing each others. Smoke drifted from the roofs of the multiple huts Jason walked past and outside men were already forging blades and smoking hams over campfires. They all inclined their heads in respect as Jason passed and he murmured quiet _good mornings_ and clasped his arms.

Zeus’ house had a sizeable dining room but right then only Zeus, his newest wife, a timid quiet, young, bleak thing called Leto, and Jason’s older sister Thalliarg, were present. The fire was roaring and a slave girl stood in the corner with a pitcher of ale.

“Son!” Zeus rose and opened his arms, smiling broadly. Jason wasn’t in the mood for his father.

“Faðir,” he said, stepping in the man’s arms nonetheless.

“How have you enjoyed your new whore?” Zeus asked joyfully, slapping his son on the back. Jason had to think fast.

“I haven’t yet, father,” Jason said calmly, sitting down next to Thalliarg.

“Well why not in Odin’s name?!” Zeus demanded, smile melting off his face like snow in the summer sun.

“I want to do it when he lets his guard down,” Jason lied, and Thalliarg glanced at him sideways, “That way it will break his spirit more.”

Zeus’ cruel smile returned and he let out a boisterous laugh, slamming his fist on the table in glee. Next to him Leto flinched. The man returned to his seat next to her, “That’s my son, and here I thought your heart would always be soft,” he said proudly, reaching for his clay cup of ale, “Now! Let’s eat!”

The table was laden with food and Jason’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he needed to eat. There was a bowl of leek and fish stew from the previous night’s supper, skyr and buttermilk and loafs of freshly baked bread. Jason reached for the bread and cut himself a fat, flour dusted slice with his dagger. They were all silent save for Zeus’ obnoxiously loud chewing and slurping. He waved his hand at the slave girl who hustled over like a mouse to pour him ale.

“We have secured a marriage for Thalliarg,” the man said, mouth stuffed with food, crumbs flying across the rough wooden table. Jason frowned and turned to his sister,

“Really Thalia?” he asked in surprise.

Thalliarg was the only person in the family that wasn’t fair, a reminiscent of the siblings’ mother. Jason always thought his sister looked more like a Northumbrian than a Dane with her ebony hair, so dark it ran almost purple. Her eyes were the same as Jason’s though, if angrier. The girl was a warrior through and through and a free soul, which was why it shocked Jason that she had decided to take a husband...however the angry look on her face made it quite clear she hadn’t gotten a choice in the matter.

“Aye, what father says,” the girl growled, biting into her bread viciously. It made Jason wonder what sort of blackmail Zeus had used to get Thalia to agree to this ordeal.

The rest of the breakfast passed in tense silence. Leto barely picked at her food while Thalia ravished hers, taking out her frustrations on the bread. Zeus was oblivious, or perhaps he was just ignoring his daughter’s obvious upset. Jason ate slowly, waiting for everyone to finish, ignoring his father’s comments about _if you continue being so slow you’ll spend your whole day at the table._

When Jason remained alone in the room he took a clay plate and laid it high with cheese and skyr and bread and smoked fish and, concealing it beneath his cloak, he hurried through the snow back to his hut. The sky had lightened considerable and the clangour of Viking life ran echoed the village louder. Jason slipped between shadows until he found himself in his house, climbing through the hallways.

Perseus looked as if he almost hadn’t moved since the last time Jason saw him. He was by the fire pit, which he kept going clearly while Jason was gone. The fur had fallen from his shoulders some but he was still wrapped up. Apart from looking more awake he was exactly how Jason had left him.

“I brought you food,” the blond said, revealing the plate from beneath his cloak. Perseus’ eyes narrowed.

“Did you poison it?” he asked. Jason frowned.

“No. I would never do that,” he placed the plate in front of the boy, at a safe distance so the Prince didn’t feel threatened, “I know you don’t trust me but no matter what my father might think you are, to me you are a mere hostage, and a servant. I have plenty of women and men in the village to pick from I don’t need you too,” he stood and turned back to the door, “Eat. And when you’re done you can clean the bedroom, and do the bed. Feel free to read the books in the room next door, but do _not_ leave the house. For your own safety.”

***

Percy wondered what his life would be like from now on as he smoothed down the furs he just arranged on Jason’s bed. He wasn’t going to do it at first, not because he thought he was above it all, but because he didn’t want to give into the Dane. However the day grew tedious; as Percy’s fear of some unknown Viking bursting into the bedroom and attempting to do... _things..._ to him disappeared, he found boredom creeping up on him. He amused himself with keeping the fire going and wandering around the room, examining the furniture. It was roughly cut, the majority of it wooden and well worn. Perseus saw Jason and his father like the royalty of the Danes, the same way he was a royal of the Northumbrians. However Percy’s bedroom was nothing like this – he had rich carpets on the cold stone floor, and wallpapers hanging off the chiselled walls. Here everything was more modest and practical though the wood gave a warmer feeling to the room. Jason’s bed was large, four tall wooden poles on each corner, connected to the ceiling. Perseus had to admit that the bed looked alluring – the furs were soft and warm beneath his hands and after a night spent huddled on the floor Percy’s back ached. After hours by himself with Jason not returning Percy almost gave in and almost curled up on the bed, but he knew better than to let his guard down _that_ much.

Instead he did as Jason asked and did his bed for him. In all fairness the blond hadn’t given Percy a reason to hate or not to trust him...but Percy still didn’t. He knew what the Danes were like – savage, violent, immoral. Jason might’ve not seemed like that, apart from when he lost his temper and threatened Percy, but it was too early to say whether he would be an ally or an enemy, he could just be cruelly waiting for Percy to trust him before he broke him.

The boy dared to creep through the house as the day dragged on – the other rooms were cold save for the kitchen where three old, crooked women bustled about. Percy remained in the shadows afraid of interacting with them. He even went as far as to go to the door and peer outside into the yard. In the grey light of day the homes were clearer and more crudely made, all straw and wood. Percy only looked for some time, too afraid to stay in the doorway for too long lest he be seen.

He returned back to Jason’s bedroom, half-heartedly taking his place by the fire pit as if he were some dog, “Things could be worse, Perce,” he whispered under his breath, “You could be dead.” _Like Tyson._ A shot of pain went through Percy at the memory of his dead brother and he squeezed his eyes shut. He remembered Tyson a mere month ago, smiling, eyes dull but full of joy, big hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He hadn’t been bright, but he had been brave, and a loving brother, and Percy’s heart ached with loss. Killed in battle. By the Danes. By Jason’s people.

But it was war, and it was what was to be expected. But if it weren’t for the greed of the Viking’s then the walls of Northumbria would still stand and the last kingdom would remain free. But alas, there was no point reminiscing about the past now. It was over and Percy had no reason to believe he would ever see his father or his sisters or the stone walls of his home again. He could be dead tomorrow, or the day after. Right now all he could do was sit.

Jason came back after it grew dark outside, clothes dirty from the mud outside. He had probably been training for the battles to come. Percy spared him but a glance, not giving him the satisfaction of staring, even if he wanted to.

Jason walked to the basin of water in the corner and dipped his hands in, scrubbing at his face in silence. Percy allowed his eyes to slide to the broad of his back before he turned away again. It was too quiet in the room, the only sounds the one of the water dripping from Jason’s jaw. Then the Viking straightened up.

“How are you?” he asked quietly. His voice was like hoarse honey.

“Alive,” Percy said carefully. Jason looked at him and his mouth twitched into a small smile.

“Clearly,” he took a rag cloth and dried his face, “you did the bed,” he said, filling the tense silence, gesturing at the neat furs with his chin, “and kept the fire going. Thank you.”

Percy opened his mouth, then closed it again. What was he meant to say to that? A Dane had just thanked his hostage. Percy gritted his teeth. He wished this was easier, that he knew exactly what to expect.

“My Father invited you to supper tonight,” Jason said carefully, pulling a dyed green cloak from the chest. Percy frowned,

“Your Father?” he questioned in his accented Danish, “What does he want with me?”

“I don’t know,” uncertainty flickered in Jason’s eyes, “he is a...complicated man. Complicated and cruel. It’s a ploy, nothing else, to provoke you...or provoke me,” he exhaled and rubbed the light stubble on his jaw, “you best keep your head down and ignore anything he says.”

“I decline his invitation,” Percy said, measured.

Jason let out a humourless snort and threw the green cloak at the boy, “You presume to think that my Father’s invitation is what it appears to be. It’s not – it’s a command.”

Percy swallowed and gripped the rough fabric of the cloak in his hands, “Right. Alright,” he nodded, remembering how chilling Zeus the Boneless had been. Unlike his son he seemed to have no morals and, frankly, Percy was...scared. He could fight in a battle where it was all cold sweat and swinging swords...but being surrounded by enemies at _supper..._ that was different, unknown territory. Percy realised, with distaste, that his biggest ally tonight would be Jason, someone he didn’t trust. What a cruel world this was. _Father our thou that art in heavens..._

He cleaned his face and dressed in the cloak and a fur Jason provided him with and followed the Dane outside into the chilly night. They passed between the Viking huts the same way Percy did the previous night and he remembered that with a shudder. He felt eyes on his back as he trailed behind Jason, but there were no words or sneers thrown at him now. No, Jason earned more respect from them than that. To Percy’s puzzlement the blond didn’t lead him back to his father’s house, but instead to a large building like a barn in the centre of the village, bubbling with laughter and light.

When the Dane pushed open the door Percy found himself in a type of mess hall, it was large enough to fit four dozen grown Danes, who sat at long benches at wooden tables. The tables were laden with food and drink, and the Viking’s greatest warriors that had fought bravely in the war for Northumbria sang bawdy songs and crashed their mugs together across the table. Jason walked between them, clasping arms, to the elevated head table at the front where Zeus sat. At his left was a young girl with dark hair cut short, and next to her a timid looking woman. To Zeus’ right there were two empty seats. Percy anxiously walked behind him, not knowing where he was meant to sit.

“Son!” Zeus called, rising to his feet with open arms. Jason climbed to the rise and allowed the man to clasp his arm and Percy followed behind him, “and your whore,” the Viking added, quieter so only Jason and Percy heard. The Northumbrian felt disgust and shame at the  leer on Zeus’ face but said nothing, like Jason had suggested. He allowed the blond to lead him to the two free seats at the table and Percy stood behind the one on the edge, ready to run. The Viking leader turned to his people, “Let us give an offering to the Great Odin and all the warriors who had died and gone to the eternal feast of Walhalla!” The Vikings roared in pleasure and several approached the fire burning in the centre of the room. Percy’s stomach churned when he saw four Danes bring forth a goat and slice its stomach over the flames. He gritted his teeth. He was Catholic – not overly so – and made a point of praying to God before every battle and before each sleep, especially now, when he was surrounded by enemies. The fact that he was at this supper, surrounded by Pagans, was an insult.

A man looking like some kind of Pagan priest dressed in shapeless golden robes with his head shaved, stood by the flames and raised his arms as the Danes all raised their cups. The Priest began the prayer in Danish, “Hail Earth Mother of All! May your fields increase and flourish, your forests grow and spread,” as he spoke Percy felt his anger and frustration rise, especially when he saw that many of the Danes were looking at him and smirking. Even Zeus was observing Percy out of the corner of his eye. _Provocation,_ Percy told himself, jaw clenching, “And your waters run pure and free. Accept my offering, O Earth Mother...”

Percy couldn’t take it. He had pride, and he was a Northumbrian at heart. He wasn’t some slave that would just conform to these disgusting Pagan beliefs, “ _Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum,_ ” Percy started praying, quietly, under his breath. Jason, who heard, reached behind him and dug his fingers into the boy’s back painfully, but Percy ignored him, praying louder, clasping his hands in front of him, “ _Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus_ ,” the Danes were all staring at him, whispering to each other in outrage, “ _ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria,_ ” Percy’s voice grew louder and his heart pounded. He was going to die, sooner or later, by the hands of these brutes. He could die open with his faith, right here and now, if he could choose, “ _Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus_ ,” the Pagan priest stopped praying and stared at Percy in shock and disgust. The tension was rising in the hall, the Vikings pulling blades out of their belts, not amused anymore. Percy knew they thought his prayers were blasphemy, and that they felt offended by him praying in their territory, but he didn’t care.

“Stop it,” Jason growled, gripping Percy’s wrist and trying to pull his hands apart.

“Get him under control, Jason,” Zeus hissed, and there was anger in his face. Percy looked at them insolently, echoing through the mess hall.

“ _Nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae_ ,” he was practically shouting now, voice echoing off the walls of the hall.

“ _Perseus_.”

“ _Amen_ ,” Percy finished, and blessed himself.

And then the world went dark.

***

Jason watched, trying to hide his distaste, as the two Danes dumped Perseus’ unconscious body at his doorstep.

“You need to keep your dog under control, Jason,” one of them barked. Jason forced himself to keep his face impassive as he nodded, watching the two walk off. He couldn’t believe what Perseus had done at supper – to openly pray over the Viking’s with his religion of lies...it was unbelievable, it was dangerous, and it had been exactly what Jason’s father had wanted. The blond had seen the pleasure on his face when the man had taken matters into his own hands and knocked the Northumbrian unconscious. He didn’t want to but he knew that if he hadn’t the boy would’ve been ripped apart by the Vikings.

Zeus had two of the guards drag his body back to his son’s house, Jason following behind them in order to ensure that they didn’t hurt the Northumbrian more than necessary. Before he went, angry and frustrated with the newcomer, his father had grasped his arm.

“Fuck him,” he had growled, quietly, “Break his spirit. He is out of line, remind him that he is nothing but your slave,” he clearly saw the uncertainty on his son’s face because his expression hardened, “I want proof,” he hissed, “I will come at dawn and you better have done it.”

His words echoed in Jason’s head as he leaned down at his doorstep and hoisted Perseus into his arms. The boy wasn’t heavy, and his head rolled freely against Jason’s arm. He was limp and pale and Jason gritted his teeth and brought him inside the hut. He refused to drag him as if he was some object – he felt responsible for the young boy and didn’t like to see him in pain even though he barely knew him. He cradled the Northumbrian in his arms and when he got to the bedroom he laid him on the bed without a second thought. Leaving him on the floor seemed barbarous, and honestly Jason felt guilty for knocking him unconscious like that.

He threw a fur over the boy and walked over to the fire pit, shoving a stick among the embers to get the flames going again. He tried to think about what evidence he could present to his father in the morning that would make him believe that he had raped Perseus. Because Jason knew he wouldn’t actually do it, he physically couldn’t. He was sure he’d go soft if he tried to pin anybody down and have his way with them, he wanted his lovers to moan and cling to him and enjoy it as much as he did – he didn’t want screaming and crying and shoving away and begging to stop. Even thinking about it made him nauseous, though it was part of his culture.

Nervously the Viking returned to the bed and stared down at Perseus, anxiously awaiting the boy’s wakening. Right now he looked small and young among the heavy furs, hair mused, hands limply by his head. He was breathing softly. Jason sighed after a few moments of nothing happening and walked to the corner of the room. He grabbed a flask of ale and poured himself a hearty cup, drinking it quickly, hoping the alcohol would help him in this situation.

A faint groan sounded from the bed and Jason jerked, almost dropping his cup in his haste to get back to Perseus. He saw the boy had regained consciousness, pressing a hand over his eyes and groaning as he rolled over onto his side. He muttered something in his language that Jason didn’t understand and guiltily the Dane poured him a cup of ale.

“Here, drink this,” he offered it to the boy who removed his hand from his eyes to squint up at him.

“What is that?” he asked, “What happened?”

“After that foolish thing you did I had to knock you unconscious,” Jason said as Perseus struggled to sit up, looking around himself in confusion, “otherwise things would’ve gotten ugly.”

“I thought I died,” Perseus said softly. There was so much pain and sadness in his voice that Jason’s heart twisted. He couldn’t remember the last time another person had made him so empathetic and he didn’t like the feeling, so he pressed the cup in Perseus’ hand. The Northumbrian wrinkled his nose but drank and the dazed look disappeared from his bright eyes ever so slightly.

“You didn’t die,” Jason said simply. He watched Perseus finish the cup and exhaled, “My father demands that I sleep with you.” Perseus chocked on the ale and coughed, covering his mouth with his arm. Jason clenched and unclenched his hands, “He wants proof that I’ve done it by dawn.”

Perseus stared ahead of himself, gripping the cup of ale, and there was this horrible expression of completely subjecting himself to his fate on his face. He closed his eyes and nodded, though one of his hands tightened on the fur that pooled around his waist as if he thought Jason would pull it away. He didn’t say anything and Jason just _couldn’t._ He couldn’t do it.

Carefully he pulled the cup from Perseus’ hand, “We’re simply going to have to fake the evidence,” he said. Perseus’ eyes snapped up to him and he frowned.

“What?” he asked, a tiny tinge of hope in his voice. Jason threw the cup somewhere to the side. This was going to be hard, and he knew that.

“Lie down,” he said, trying his best to keep his voice steady. Perseus looked afraid but surprised Jason by doing as he was told. He _trusted_ the blond, at least to some extent, and that just made Jason more intent on ensure he wasn’t hurt by the end of this. The Dane carefully climbed on top of the boy, swinging his leg so he had a knee on either side of Perseus. He tried to ignore the way Perseus’ hands gripped the fur at his waist, but Jason wasn’t going to pull it away. The Northumbrian bit his lip and looked up at Jason with fear, “I’m going to have to mark your neck,” Jason said, trying to think of ways to make Perseus look like he had just gotten fucked without actually fucking him. He could feel the warmth of the boy beneath him.

“Alright,” Perseus gave a curt nod.  

Jason gently took the boy’s jaw in his hand and turned it to the side, revealing the gentle curve of his neck. The Dane had bruised the necks of dozens of people before, because after battle he got aggressive and territorial. But those people always enjoyed it, and Perseus wouldn’t.

Jason knew he had to go slow but at the same time he didn’t want it to seem like he was trying to inspire some sort of intimacy between him and Perseus. He leaned down, burying his head in the boy’s neck. His tongue slid between his lips and he licked at the skin.

Perseus shoved him away, “No,” he gasped, “No that’s disgusting, don’t-“

Jason’s heart pounded as he looked down at the boy, whose blood had rushed to his face, “It’s the only way.”

“The bible says it’s wrong for two men...for...,” he swallowed, hard, “I can’t do this.”

Jason exhaled through his teeth in frustration, “If we don’t pretend to do it then someone _will_ do it. Either my father or one of his men, or all of his men if he feels particularly cruel,” he said, trying to understand how Perseus could bring his religion up _now,_ “I’m trying to help you here!”

Perseus stared at him for a moment, then exhaled, closed his eyes, nodded and turned his head to the side, his hands sliding from where they had been pressed against Jason’s chest, keeping him away.

Jason leaned down again, and pressed his mouth to Perseus’ warm neck, more roughly now. He had to get this done over quickly and torture Perseus for as little time as possible. His tongue brushed the skin again, and Jason’s hands laid on either side of Perseus’ head, caging him in. He sucked on the boy’s neck, nibbled at it between his teeth, and heard Perseus’ breath hitch. Jason pulled back and saw that an angry red mark was already forming on Perseus’ otherwise flawless skin, so he found a new patch and sucked it into his mouth again. He was vaguely aware of Perseus’ breath begin to quicken but he didn’t look up, ignoring the ignition of heat in his own body.  He hadn’t had anybody in several days and it was beginning to show.

He tried to remain as detached from what he was physically doing as he could, but it was hard. Perseus was real and warm beneath him, his body shifting ever so slightly every time Jason’s mouth touched his neck. As the blond went further down he got a little rougher and more insistent – he knew if his father thought that he was gentle he wouldn’t be satisfied. Without much thought Jason tugged Perseus’ shirt to the side, revealing his shoulder, and pressed his mouth there too, grazing his teeth lightly over the skin. Perseus made a muffled, startled noise that he stopped before it fully came out.

“I’m going to bite you,” Jason said quietly, finding his way back up to Perseus’ neck.

“Just do w-what you need to,” the Northumbrian replied, his voice trembling slightly. Jason’s hands slid from the furs on either side of Perseus’ head and down to his shoulders, where he held him gently. He didn’t want to hurt the boy, but he had to. He bit Perseus, gently at first, and the boy squirmed beneath him. Then he bit harder, until he broke skin. The Northumbrian sucked in a pained gasp, his hands jerking up to grip at the man’s biceps.

Jason pulled back and watched blood well up on the bite mark. Then he sat back completely and took in Perseus. The boy wouldn’t face him, his head turned to the side. His neck was a bruised and bloody mess, perfect to please Zeus. Perseus’ shirt was hanging off one surprisingly muscled shoulder but what surprised Jason more was his facial expression; his cheeks were flushed, mouth parted to let out shaky breaths, eyes half lidded. He looked...almost as if he had enjoyed it. A sudden shot of heat went through Jason and travelled right down to his nether regions. He tightened his hands on either side of him.

“You should scratch me,” he said. Perseus looked at him sluggishly, looking dazed.

“What?”

“To make it look like you put up a fight,” Jason said, shrugging his shirt over his head. Perseus’ eyes danced over his scarred, tanned chest, but he seemed completely unaware of what was happening. The blood from the bite slid down to his collarbone.

Jason leaned down and took Perseus’ warm hand into his, placing in over his shoulder, “Just do it,” he said quietly, and nudged the boy’s face to the side, pressing his mouth just beneath his chin and sucking another bruise there. He didn’t have to do that, but he was starting to throb in his breeches and he just wanted to touch the Northumbrian for a moment longer. The boy let out another gasp and his fingers dug into Jason’s back, blunt finger-nails dragging over the skin. The tinge of pain seemed only to intensify the arousal Jason was feeling, and he dragged his teeth over Perseus’ neck.  

Jason pulled away from the boy, desperately trying to control himself, and pushed the furs aside, taking the white sheet off the straw mattress. He could feel blood on his back from the scratch and it stung.

“What are you doing?” Perseus asked hoarsely as Jason reached behind himself with some difficulty and pressed the sheet to his back. When he pulled it away it was dotted with blood. He then pressed a clean part of the sheet to Perseus’ neck, wiping the boy’s own blood away. The Northumbrian winced.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said quietly. The boy shook his head, looking at the sheet that bore the fabricated evidence of his shame.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, sitting up, “You’re a good person, Jason.”

Sitting there, neck bruised, collar blood stained, hair messy, he really did look as if Jason had fucked him.

***

Percy rested by the fire pit again, and there was a kind of warmth and ease in his bones. Earlier Jason had done those... _things_ to him, and although initially Percy was disgusted and afraid because, quite frankly, he had never been touched that way by a man, the way Jason was made him melt into the furs. Even now, as the boy watched the bed where the Dane was asleep, he could feel the ghost of his mouth on his neck. Subconsciously the boy raised a hand to the skin that still ached a little. He had seen its reflection in Jason’s metal shield and he knew that his neck was now a map of bruises and bites. It was obvious, it was clear what had happened and Perseus knew it was a type of brand, but the memory of Jason’s soft eyes and gentle hands and apologetic words assured the boy that the Dane didn’t think of him as his property, which he appreciated. Freedom was important.

Percy decided he could trust Jason, at least to an extent. Even in the dimness of the room he could make out the bloodied scratches on Jason’s broad back. Percy brushed his fingers over the cloth still wrapped around his wrists. He couldn’t sleep, too stuck on what had happened earlier, too...awake. Jason’s touches made him feel things he never had before, and it was terrifying.

The clink of the Danes coming awake outside announced the coming of dawn and it wasn’t long before the cocks crowed and Jason began to rouse. Percy got to his feet when the blond rolled out of bed, but hurriedly looked away when he remembered that Jason slept naked.

“ _Gothan morgun,”_ Jason said, stretching his muscular arms over his head.

“ _Gothan morgun,”_ Percy replied clumsily. Jason shrugged on his breeches and smiled at him slightly. Before the Northumbrian could return that smile a shout sounded down the corridor, and Percy’s blood chilled.

“Son!” Zeus roared. Jason visibly tensed, the smile disappearing from his face. He laced up his breeches and gestured at Percy to follow him. The boy trailed behind the blond as they entered the cold, breezy corridor. It was freezing in the front room, where Zeus waited for them. It must’ve snowed because his white hair and large fur were dusted with it; there was an axe strapped to his back.

“Father,” Jason said, guarded, clasping the older Viking’s arm. Perseus hated how the man’s icy blue eyes slid over him. It’s as if he didn’t even consider Percy human.

“And here we have our precious little Northumbrian,” Zeus growled, approaching Percy, his gaze obviously sliding to the boy’s marred neck. The Prince felt exposed but he stood his ground firmly, head raised, refusing to bend underneath Zeus’ gaze.

The man grabbed his chin in his hand roughly, suddenly, and Percy’s heart jerked in his chest when the man violently turned his head. The boy saw Jason flinch out of the corner of his eye but he didn’t do anything as Zeus examined Percy as if he was a cut of meat. He nodded, smirking,

“You did well, son, like a true Dane.” Jason didn’t look proud, he looked disgusted, “now I think I will give our dear little Prince Perseus to the warriors, allow them to have their fun.”

“Nay,” Jason said, before fear of the man’s words could hit Percy completely.

“Nay?” Zeus laughed, turning to his son, as if he had expected the reaction.

“He’s _my_ whore,” Jason said coldly, and even Percy flinched at the conviction in his words, “you gave him to _me._ I’m not sharing.”

Zeus glanced between them and then nodded, “Until he grows tedious,” he agreed begrudgingly, “Now, let me see those bloodied sheets.”

**27 Ýlir 886AD (7 days later)**

A week had passed and Percy decided that it definitely could’ve been worse. Ignoring the fact that he had gone from being a Prince to a servant, things could’ve definitely taken a darker turn. The boy even grew comfortable enough to venture outside Jason’s hut ever so often and after several days the closest neighbours stopped staring at him whenever he did so. He brought water from the well and occasionally helped the three women in the kitchen – Percy found out that their names were Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos, and although they clearly appreciated his help they rarely spoke to him. Percy sharpened Jason’s weapons and spent some of his day praying or cleaning or polishing his Danish by reading the books on the grand Viking exploits. Jason brought him dinner and never requested for Percy to accompany him to the mess hall again, and for the most part Zeus lost interest in his son’s ‘whore.’ The highlights of Percy’s day was the moments he got to spend with Jason, the only person in the entire Viking village who showed him any kindness. Slowly the Dane began telling Percy the stories of his childhood and exploits in battle and were they not enemies the Northumbrian suspected they might’ve been friends. But Percy still bore resentment towards the blond, who couldn’t clearly define the boy’s fate – any questions the Prince asked Jason would answer with a shrug and a vague answer. Was Percy ever going to return to Northumbria? Would he be allowed to see his family? When was Jason going to give him up?

There seemed to be no answers.

Still, Percy found that he enjoyed aspects of the Vikings’ culture – he liked the sense of classlessness and unity they had in the village, even if he himself was excluded, and the wild freedom they all possessed, even the children. And he liked how clean the Vikings were, cleaner than the Northumbrians. On the first Laurdag that he was in the Viking village he found out all about washing day.

Percy was in the bedroom, sitting by the fire, wrapped in a fur and reading a heavy tome about ancient Viking settlements, when the three old Crones from downstairs padded into the room. They were wrinkled and ugly and glared at Percy from beneath their hairless brow arches. Between them they carried a wooden tub but they didn’t offer an answer to Percy’s confused look.

The boy tried to concentrate on his book but kept getting distracted by the women walking in and out of the room. They brought pitchers of steaming hot water from somewhere and poured it into the tub until it was full up. And then Jason entered.

“What’s going on?” Only then did Percy ask a question since he knew the Crones wouldn’t have given him an answer anyway.

“It’s Laurdag,” Jason said casually, and started stripping off his soiled clothes. He had no shame, like the other Danes, and was comfortable naked around Percy even if it made the Prince slightly uncomfortable. Even now he stripped as if he were alone and Percy couldn’t help but allow his eyes to slide over the man’s body – the scratch mark on his back was still angry red but healing fast. The bruises on Percy’s neck were quickly fading too, and Jason had made it clear that if Zeus were to come to the hut or ask to see Percy again they would have to repeat the previous process. The Northumbrian found that the idea didn’t fill him with disgust or distain.

“What’s Laurdag?” he asked.

“Washing day,” Jason gestured to the wooden bath, “I thought you were bright, Perseus,” he shook his head and grinned. Percy rolled his eyes,

“You can call me Percy you know,” he said as Jason made quick work of his breeches. The blond glanced up at him and smiled.

“Percy,” he said and it made the Northumbrian shiver to hear it said by Jason in his mother tongue.

“Do you want me to help you...uh, wash?” he asked, unsure of his position in this situation.

“Nay, of course not,” Jason was completely naked then and Percy had to try very hard to keep his eyes focused on the man’s face, “strip and get in, you could do with a good scrub.”

“Are you calling me filthy, Jason?” Percy teased.

“Nay,” Jason padded over to the bath and lowered himself into the steaming water, exhaling happily, “but you will be in a week’s time by the next washing day so get in.”

Percy hesitated for a moment, but the thought of having a bath seemed wonderful right now and the tub was big enough that the boy felt comfortable sharing it with Jason. The blond closed his eyes and rested his arms on the edges of the tub and Percy hurriedly shrugged out of his clothes, allowing them to pool on the floor. He carefully put one leg into the water, then the next and then he lowered himself fully, exhaling as he felt the heat relax his tense muscles. His legs bumped against Jason’s under the water and the blond cracked one of his eyes open to grin at him.

“Nice, isn’t it?” he asked. Percy returned the grin and nodded, “Here,” Jason reached out his hand, “let me see your wrists.”

Percy allowed the blond to undo the dirty cloths wrapped around his wrists, revealing the pink welts behind. The man nodded in approval, noticing that it was getting better. He dropped the cloth on the side of the tub and Percy carefully and slowly dipped his hands into the hot water. He hissed at the burning on the wounds, but after a moment the pain disappeared.

“I know,” Jason said, looking at the flames in the pit next to the tub, “my back burns too.”

“I apologise for that,” Percy said. Jason shook his head and nudged the Northumbrian’s leg with his own beneath the water, sending a jolt of excitement through the boy’s body.

“Don’t be,” the Viking said, “none of this is your fault.”

Percy looked at the clouded water of the tub and scooped some of it into his palm, wetting his hair with it, “I don’t understand why you’re so different from them,” the boy said, feeling a droplet of water race down the side of his face. Pain flashed in Jason’s eyes and he dropped his gaze.

“Aye. I know.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Percy said quickly, “They’re...they’re brutes, and savages.”

Jason’s eyes snapped up and his jaw was clenched, “They’re my people, watch your words.”

“They sold me to you as a sex slave,” Percy said, eyes narrowed, voice cold, “The Christians in Northumbria would never do that,” Jason’s shoulders slumped.

“You’re right,” he said, “being a brute and a savage is what’s ideal in our culture. But I can’t...I can’t just hurt people for no reason. I’ll kill on the battlefield, but that’s different. I can’t rape, I can’t murder innocents,” it sounded as if he was disappointed that he couldn’t, which Percy was beginning to understand – with a father like Zeus the Boneless there were certain things expected of Jason, and he clearly had too many morals for that, “I’m sorry that you’re here.”

Percy wasn’t. He wasn’t sorry that he was sitting in this hot water with Jason, in this warm, comforting room. He _was_ sorry he was despised by everyone outside these four walls, but right now it seemed that he could live with it.

Playfully Percy splashed Jason with the water to try and get the depressed look off his face. The blond smiled, “My sister will be coming later, to drink. I’d like you to meet her.”

“If she’s anything like your father then no thank you,” Percy said, too fast, without thinking. He winced but Jason just shook his head.

“No, don’t fear. She isn’t.”

***

Thalliarg sat opposite Percy at the table, smirking. Jason always thought his sister looked devilish, especially now, as she looked at Percy like a predator. In the boy’s defence he kept his calm, his posture straight, not looking away from Thalia. He was clearly a warrior and not some meek, weak boy despite his young age.

“Drink with me boys,” Thalia said, lifting her mug of ale. Percy did the same and Jason half-heartedly joined them, waiting for his sister’s interrogation to begin. They drank and the ale filled Jason with warmth. The three of them were sitting at the bench in the kitchen, in the dimness, the only light coming from the fire pit.

“So,” Thalia put down her cup, laced her fingers together and rested her chin on her hands, “tell me, Perseus, did you have a wife in your kingdom?”

“No,” Percy said, measured, “My father was making arrangements but they never came to play.”

“Of course,” Thalia said, “so how are you finding our village?”

“Delightful,” Percy said with obvious mockery. Jason chuckled into his drink and Thalliarg’s smile widened – she enjoyed people with character.

“Well, Perseus,” she sipped her ale, “do you have any siblings back home?”

“Yes, I have two sisters, they’re in King Robert’s Court in West Francia right now. I also have-,” he cut off abruptly, and Jason saw pain flicker in his eyes. He cleared his throat, “I also _had_ a brother. He died in the siege.”

Thalia stopped smiling, “It’s always hard losing a sibling,” she said, uncomfortable and unsure how to respond. Jason had always been the more socially comfortable one. The blond now desperately wanted to remove the tension in the air.

“Thalia, how’s the marriage prospect going?” he asked with a faked cheer. The girl glared at him.

“Fuck you, you puny wretch,” she spat. Jason smiled.

“Did I offend you, sister?”

Thalia turned away from him in a huff and poured herself and Percy another cup of ale, “I like the Northumbrian more than you, Jason.”

“You hurt me, Thalia,” Jason said dramatically.

“Jason,” the voice came from the doorway and the blond’s head snapped up. He was surprised to see his fiancée, Ketillaug, standing there, in a dark dress, her blonde hair braided and piled on top of her head. Her face was cold, her eyes trained on Percy.

“Ketillaug,” Jason rose, “What are you doing here at this time?”

“I wanted to see you, naturally,” the girl flashed him a smile, “and the new whore Zeus gifted you,” she took the Northumbrian in, and Percy didn’t even look at her. Thalia drank, annoyed, “He’s not much is he?”

“Ketillaug, you should go home,” Jason said. He didn’t like spending time with the girl, he thought her shallow, emotional and dull – she was known in the village for her lack of loyalty and yet her family was wealthy, hence the marriage arrangement between her and Jason, “It’s late.”

“Of course,” she walked to Jason and kissed his cheek, “I simply wanted to know who you would be fucking tonight,” the sweetness of her voice didn’t match her words, “Don’t get used to the bed, slave,” she said to Percy, her tone unchanging. His head jerked up to look at her, “it’s my place by Jason’s side. You should start preparing yourself for the rest of the men of this village-“

“Get out of the house you dull whore,” Thalia spat, glaring heatedly at Kelli. It clearly shocked Percy, though Jason was used to this – his sister despised the other girl ever since they were children.

“Thalliarg. Charming as always,” the blonde said dryly, offered Jason a smile, and walked out of the kitchen and out of the front door. When she left Percy exhaled shakily.

“Lovely fiancée,” he muttered, not looking up at Jason. The blond’s heart twisted and he tried to look for words to soothe the situation. It was Thalia who found them.

“Stupid bitch,” she laughed humourlessly and finished her ale, “Don’t listen to anything she says Perseus, her words are horse shit.”

Percy smiled, “She’s right though, isn’t she?”

Thalia and Jason exchanged pained glances. The girl was the only one who shared Jason’s morals and he was sure it was the last remnant of their mother. They were both strong warriors and yet they had soft hearts.

“I think I’d like to go hunting with you sometime, Perseus,” Thalliarg said finally, standing up.

**27th Mörsugur 886AD (A month later)**

The breath clouded in front of Jason’s face. His boots were sunk in the freshly fallen snow. It was a bitter, bitter English winter and the wind bit at Jason’s exposed face, yet it was nothing like the piercing winters of Scandinavia, where each of the elements was trying to kill you. The trees above Jason, despite being leafless, offered some kind of protection from the snow. Dawn was moments ago and the Vikings remained motionless among the trees. They stood as if they had always been part of the forest, as if they had been made from stone, holding their wicked looking double edged swords and their violent axes and deadly hammers. Jason’s sword was a good weight in his palm, and his blood sung with the desire to use it.

The Danes stood, tense, awaiting the sign to attack. They were going to battle a band of Northumbrians that had started approaching their ships on the river in hopes of destroying them as revenge for their kingdom. But the Vikings weren’t going to let them – Jason already knew it would be a slaughter today and it made things worse that he knew that the bodies on the field would be Percy’s people. As he stood by the trees, sweat of anticipation beading on his forehead, Jason’s lips moved in a soundless prayer to the Gods. _Odin, far-wanderer, grant me wisdom, courage, and victory. friend Thor, grant me your strength. And both be with me._

From the distance came the sound of heavy metal armour jostling with each move. The Northumbrians were coming. Still, the Danes remained still, the sky greying with each moment as dawn approached. From between the trees Jason could see the field that would soon run red with blood, and the dark line of soldiers approaching. A snow petal landed on his hand but he didn’t even glance down. His mind was blank, his breathing the only thing he could hear, the hilt of his sword dug into his palm, reminding him where he was.

A low whistle sounded somewhere from the trees and the perfect stillness the Vikings had been in broke. It was as if a roll of thunder went through the forest as a roar built up in the throats of the warriors. They all surged forward as if they had one body, one mind, tearing through the trees and exploding onto the snowy field. Jason lost all sense of singularity and individuality and for a moment he existed only as a part of this blood-thirsty, shouting crowd of fighters, running eagerly into the arms of death.

**29th Mörsugur 886AD (2 days later)**

Percy didn’t think he’d be this agitated with Jason away on a battlefield, but he was. The man had left with half of the village’s warriors a day back and none of them had returned yet. Percy was torn – on one hand he didn’t want any Northumbrians killed, but on the other he desperately wanted Jason to return. The house felt empty without him, and the Prince had gotten so used to his presence. He kept the doors locked now that the blond was gone, and slept the two nights in his bed, wrapped up in furs, praying to God to keep him safe.

It was late in the night and Perseus was with Thalia, of all people. Despite over a month of living among the Danes the boy still had many enemies in the village, but Jason’s sister was not one of them. She defied all expectations and created a controversy among her people by openly expressing her approval of Percy. She drank with him and brought him food when Jason was at battle and due to Zeus’ absence nobody seemed to care enough to say anything. They were getting used to Perseus’ presence.

So he wasn’t in the house when Jason returned, and maybe that was for the best. He and Thalia had been in the mess hall, drinking, and now the two slightly tipsy friends were veering between huts, ankle deep in fresh snow. It was cold but the drink they had had kept their blood warm.

“Drink, for the wind blows cold and drink for The Wolf runs free,” Thalia sang, very loud and very off-key, causing Percy to giggle, “Drink to the ships with sails like wings and  
drink to the storm-tossed seas...”

Percy was distracted by Thalliarg singing and by his own drunkenness and that’s why it took him a moment to realise that the village suddenly seemed more crowded. Thalia continued singing loudly but Percy grew quiet as he saw bawdy Danes loitering around, laughing and drinking, their clothes splattered with crimson blood. The warriors were back from the battle, and it looked like they won. Percy’s heart started pounding and the first thing that he thought was _Jason._ He sped up his walk, sliding his arm from Thalia’s, and the girl got pulled to the side by one of the Viking men who started laughing with her. Perseus became anonymous in the crowd as he sloppily shoved his way to the house. He needed to ensure that the blond was safe.

Percy pushed open the door of Jason’s hut as if it were his own home and trailed snow down the corridor in his haste to get to the bedroom, where he assumed the Dane would be if he had returned home. However when the Northumbrian pushed the door open to the bedroom, he found something he hadn’t expected.

The fire that he had had going all day was reduced to embers now and the room was dark and cold. Jason was back though, and he was on the bed...with a whore. Percy’s stomach twisted when he saw the blond – he was splattered with blood, still wearing his breeches, and the whore below him was on her stomach, her long fiery hair falling over one shoulder as she moaned loudly, almost obnoxiously. She was not Ketillaug. Jason fucked her violently, clearly not caring about her emotions though the girl didn’t seem to care either, her mouth stretched in a smile as she cried out, over and over.

“Jason! Jason!”

The blonde looked up suddenly, and there was something animalistic in his usually gentle eyes. He gazed directly at Percy and the boy inhaled sharply at the pure _want_ in his eyes. He rammed into the girl but his eyes remained located firmly on Percy, and the drunk boy couldn’t seem to look away. Jason’s eyes bore right into his soul and Percy’s head went silent, drowning out the sounds the whore was making. He was locked in place, completely frozen and at Jason’s mercy. He saw the sweat glistening on the man’s skin and felt heat drip down into his stomach just from the blond’s gaze.

Jason wasn’t going to look away, but Percy had to. With a deep inhale he turned on his heel, his head spinning from an abundance of alcohol and emotions, and with immense difficulty he closed the door behind him, allowing the cold air of the corridor to fan over his heated face. He closed his eyes, tried to get his throbbing heart under control, and went to the kitchen. He somehow got the fire going and curled up in front of it, shivering and confused and afraid.

**31 st Mörsugur 886AD (2 days later)**

Percy looked at Jason, who was sitting at the rough kitchen table, sharpening his longsword. Percy, on the other hand, was sitting by the fire, flipping through pages of some book that he didn’t care about. For the past three days he and the blond exchanged merely a handful of words, the uncomfortable encounter after Jason’s return weighed down on both of them and the air in the bedroom was oft tense and uncomfortable. The Northumbrian wanted the comfort to return to his and Jason’s relationship desperately.

He looked away from the blurring words on the book and back up at Jason. His heart jumped when he saw that the blond was already looking at him, and the Viking hurriedly looked back to his sword. Percy also averted his eyes, but soon felt Jason’s gaze on him again. It was clear the man wanted to say something as badly as Percy. Except neither of them knew what words to use, Perseus didn’t even knew what the issue really was.

“Are you-,” Jason started suddenly, but cut off abruptly.

“What?” Percy’s head snapped up. Jason looked at him for a moment, then blinked and shook his head, looking back to his sword.

“Nothing,” he exhaled, and rubbed the stubble on his chin. Percy bit his lip and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Thalliarg swept into the kitchen, snow tumbling off her furs and a look of vague alarm on her face.

“Thalia,” Percy said, rising to his feet. Jason looked up an expression of surprise at seeing his sister fleeting over his face.

“Thalia, what is it?” he asked, standing.

“The Winter Solstice celebrations end tonight,” Thalia said, breathless as if she had ran. Jason groaned and rubbed his forehead.

“Fuck,” he swore, “With all the fighting I had forgotten.”

“Father ordered a feast,” the girl said, ignoring Percy’s confused look, “even now the priests are killing one of the pigs for sacrifice. Naturally he wants both of us to be present,” her eyes slid to Percy, “and he wants Perseus to accompany you.”

“Lord,” Percy sighed and looked at the ceiling, “Will the man never give me peace?”

“I’m afraid not,” Thalia offered him a smile, and then looked at her brother, who appeared worried, “Now, I don’t know about your...er, _bedroom_ arrangements,” she said, a blush appearing on her cheeks, “but Perseus I can tell you that you’re looking too healthy for our father’s liking. You boys might need to change that.”

The moment she left the kitchen Percy’s hand flew to his neck. There were no bite marks or bruises there, no evidence of his and Jason’s sexual activities...because there were none, and that was going to become blatantly obvious tonight. When the Northumbrian glanced at the blond Jason was already looking at him, and it was quite clear that they would have to do what they did the first time Zeus requested to see Percy. The thought of doing that again made the Prince shiver and a peculiar kind of anticipation curl in his stomach.

“I’m sorry about this,” Jason said, and he sounded tired. Percy closed his book and perched it on the edge of the table as the blond sheathed his sword and left it on one of the bench. The most painful thing was perhaps that as they walked into the bedroom neither of them spoke.

The bedroom was cold and dark since the boys opted to stay in the kitchen the past three days in the evening, as if afraid of the bed that Jason had had the whore on. Now there were mere embers in the fire pit that usually burned so bright.

“I...,” Jason looked at the bed and brushed a hand through his hair, “Do you want to lie down?”

Percy didn’t. He couldn’t imagine being in the same place that some girl who had been fucked by Jason had laid, even if the blond had washed the furs. There was just something that disgusted the Northumbrian about that situation and something that made him _angry_ to remember it.

“Here is fine,” he said, colder than he intended, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head to the side to expose his neck. He was going to be strong and unmoving, like a pillar, when Jason touched him. Last time...last time he had lost himself in the other man more than he cared to admit.

He watched the Dane anxiously in the darkness of the room – only his outline was visible and even when he approached his face was all shadows. Percy almost flinched when he felt Jason’s hands on his waist, because he hadn’t expected them. The blond held him tenderly but the image that flashed in Percy’s head was his violent thrusting into the girl. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and erase that image and drown out the anger that threatened to explode in his stomach. Jason drew nearer and ducked his head, so Percy felt his breath on the skin of his neck. He forced his breathing to remain even and his arms to stay still at his sides when he first felt Jason’s mouth touch his skin. It was as soft and gentle as Percy remembered, even when the blond bit him.

However no matter how much he tried, Percy couldn’t detach himself from the feelings that Jason’s actions were causing. His body felt warm every moment that he spent with Jason that close to him. His stomach felt tight and the skin of his neck tingled. Jason sucked on his skin and Percy closed his eyes, which rolled to the back of his head. His mouth fell open in a silent noise of pleasure and he was glad Jason couldn’t see his face. His breath was coming out in laboured puffs and the fact the room was dark just made everything so much more intimate and intense. Jason’s touching was making Percy feel things he couldn’t understand completely.

“ _Ah!”_ Percy cried out suddenly when Jason bit him unexpectedly in the place where his neck met his shoulder. It sent a jolt of heat through the boy and his legs felt unstable. Jason pulled away, clearly surprised about the noise. Percy felt himself blush in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” the blond whispered, but he was too close, his breath brushing Percy’s mouth. The dark haired boy’s heart pounded and his suddenly he wanted nothing more than to kiss him. He realised how wrong that was – not only was Jason a man, but he was also a Dane.

Percy stepped back, his fingers brushing the bite on his neck, and he felt the blood there, “It’s fine,” he said quietly.

**2 nd Gói 887AD (1 month and 2 days later)**

Percy would’ve never thought he’d witness the dawn of a new year among enemies, but it was starting to look as if he was to become one of them. He and Jason grew close again, the awkwardness of Perseus witnessing him with a whore dispersing, though now there was a new, underlying tension to the two, something Percy couldn’t quite identify. He had been with the Vikings for, if his calculations were correct, two months and two weeks, and there still seemed to be nothing changing. Of course the Danes stopped their rough treatment of the boy and accepted his presence in Jason’s house, but it didn’t seem as if Percy’s father was attempting to get his only living son back to Northumbria. The Kingdom was now governed by the Danes and so Percy didn’t know where his father was and how much power he had retained.

Percy only realised how long he had been with the Danes when the snow outside began to melt and turn to slush between the Viking huts. As the deadly winter retreated the Danes went out on more and more raids and Percy found himself alone for long periods of the day, wondering where Jason was. Thalliarg became his salvation.

Percy realised there were three types of Viking women – there were the elder ones, the mothers and matriarchs of the houses, there were also the beautiful, virginal, cold young girls that were prepared to marry the blood-thirsty warriors of the village. And then there were girls like Thalia, the warrior girls who knew how to work with needle and thread as well as with an axe or a sword. They were the ones left behind to protect villages at war and they, like the men, went hunting. Which what became Thalia’s and Percy’s pastime.

Percy, after remaining inside Jason’s home for so long without stepping outside for any longer than a few minutes, found that being in the nearby forest gave him more freedom than it probably should’ve. Thalia had come to him in the morn and brought him breakfast since Jason was away on a raid and had asked Percy to come to come hunting with him. Perseus took furs out of Jason’s chest – for the past two months the blond had given the Prince clothes, since both of them refused to allow him to be dressed in the scratchy, putrid rags given to slaves. So Jason wrapped himself up in a thick fur that smelled like Jason and followed Thalia through the village.  Apart from a few prolonged stares nobody seemed to notice the two as they climbed a gentle slope on the edge of the village, where sparse houses gave way to trees, and found themselves walking in the snowy wood.

They walked in silence, their boots imprinting in the snow, which had began to melt in the village but remained thick here, where people came rarely. The trees were leafless, and the clear blue sky was visible between the bare branches. Percy craned his head up and looked up at it, letting out a breath that turned into a white cloud in front of his face. Nearby a goldfinch sang a sweet little tune, a sign that spring was fast approaching.

Thalliarg’s braided hair was tucked into her furs and her face was full of cold determination and concentration, a crossbow in her gloved hands. Percy also had a crossbow but where Thalia’s was raised, waiting to shoot, his was limp at his side. He didn’t care much for hunting but enjoyed the winter scenery and crisp, fresh air unmarked by the smoke from the village fires. Suddenly a thought hit him, so powerful and sudden that he almost stopped walking. The snow seeped through his trousers and he stared between two trees, not really noticing anything in particular. _I could run,_ he thought, the freezing air biting at his face, _I could turn around and disappear between the trees and if Thalia tried to catch me I could shoot her with a crossbow. I could be free._

No, he would never really hurt the girl who was one of the few people who showed him any kindness. And he wouldn’t run – he didn’t know which way Northumbria even was and it would be too dangerous for him to go without a map, there was the chance that the exposure to elements would kill him. And anyway the Danes would undoubtedly take revenge on the Northumbrians for Percy’s actions and...and...

And he couldn’t imagine never seeing Jason again, or worse, meeting him in battle and being forced to kill him.

The sound of a crossbolt rushing through the air and something hitting the ground pulled Percy out of his thoughts. His eyes widened when he saw that Thalliarg had pulled the crossbow up and had managed to shoot down a brambling, the bird laying on its back, its orange stomach sticking up. Thalliarg smiled and scooped it out of the snow.

“Dinner,” she said, holding it up to Percy. He smiled at her palely.

The girl managed to hunt down another brambling after which she and Percy spent time walking around the forest and picking up branches for a fire, which proved a tedious and hard task since most of the wood was wet from snow. Finally they created a big enough pile that they could have a proper campfire going, after which they skinned the birds and speared them on two sticks, sticking them over the fire and sitting against a tree to look at the flames.

“So,” Thalliarg started, her shoulder pressed against Percy’s as the two stared at the fire dancing among the snow, “How are you and Jason?”

“Good,” Percy said, and didn’t really know what to add. Because they _were_ good.

Thalia looked at him and a faint smirk played on her lips, “You’re telling me he fucks you every night and you’re _just_ good.”

Percy flinched, “What else would we be?”

“I don’t know,” Thalliarg laughed, leaning forward to turn the birds over, “Jason used to sleep with plenty of the village girls and now he barely even gives them a second glance. I don’t think he’s spoken to Ketillaug in the last month,” she looked at Percy and there was something about her eyes that made the Prince want to trust her, “I think it’s because of you.”

“It’s not,” Percy said immediately, unsettled at how defensive he sounded. He paused, contemplating whether he could confide in the girl, “We haven’t slept together.”

Thalia leaned back against the tree, a pleased smile on her face. She reached over and patted Percy’s thigh in comfort, “I thought so. My brother would never hurt somebody in that way, especially not _you.”_

“What do you mean?” Percy wasn’t sure what the girl was suggesting.

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings, North Boy,” the girl let out a chuckle, “You could learn a thing or two.”

No amount of insistence and prying questions from Percy could get the girl to explain to him exactly what he meant. Her words started to scrape at Percy – was there something he didn’t know? What did he have to do with Jason’s sudden detachment from the women? Percy remembered all too vividly the scene he had walked in on, with Jason fucking that girl, and he was sure that his presence had in no way impacted Jason.

“My brother,” Thalia said, gentler now, “he isn’t like the rest of us.”

“I know,” Percy murmured, reaching for the birds and pulling them off the fire. He handed one to Thalia and she turned it in her hand slowly, “I can’t stop thinking about how this all could’ve ended so much worse.”

“So if you got the chance to leave...?” Thalia asked, biting into the bird, grease running down her chin. Percy looked at the sky, which was already beginning to darken.

“I don’t know,” Percy admitted, “I don’t know if I have anything to return to in Northumbria.”

“Are you in love with him?” she asked suddenly, though her voice remained casual as if she had thought this question over and over in her head. Percy opened his mouth but no words would come out. His heart twisted in his chest and suddenly all these new thoughts exploded in his head. Was he _jealous_ of that girl Jason had slept with?  Was that why he couldn’t look at the bed anymore? And then there was that constant ache in his stomach whenever Jason left to go raiding, but Percy had thought it was just because he was worried for the blond’s safety. But what if...what if Thalia was right.

“He should be back from the raid when we get back,” Thalia said, the silence from Percy clearly too prolonged for him.

“Yes,” Percy said, distractedly.

**8 th Gói 887AD (6 days later)**

They had come from nowhere, a wave of men in armour and leather, a roar rising from them like Odin’s thunder. The Vikings had been unprepared, they had been sacking a small English village as always, taking their supplies and slicing a few throats. Jason personally didn’t involve himself with the murder or rape of the innocents, instead gathering as much food as he could to take back to the Viking village.

And then suddenly the Northumbrian soldiers had appeared from the mist, racing down the snowy hill, appearing like phantoms in the early morning. Jason had led his guard down since the previous raids had gone with the Gods’ blessing, and now he felt his heart surge with a mixture of panic and excitement.

“Men!” he bellowed, and the Vikings emerged from the huts of the villagers, some of them fastening their breeches. In moments they were organised and as ready as they could be, drawing on their weapons and shouting at each other. Jason muttered a short prayer under his breath as he saw the horde of men approaching. There was maybe thirty of them, versus the dozen Vikings that had come on this raid. The blond reached for the sword strapped to his back, the familiar weight of the weapon making courage sing in his blood. He was a warrior, always ready for death. This was sudden and it was about to turn violent, but Jason was prepared for that.

Percy’s smiling face flashed in his mind but before Jason could concentrate on the happy thought of the boy, awaiting his return by the fire, the Northumbrians hit the Vikings. The battle ensured to the deafening roar of the enemies. A music arose from the village composed of steel crashing against steel, the screams of women as they dragged their crying children through the snow, the sound of men shouting in outrage as they fought.

A Northumbrian with a dark beard, clinking in his armour, threw himself at Jason. The blond allowed his body to move on its own as his sword hand shot out, catching the other man’s weapon against it. He brought his other arm around so he was holding the hilt of his sword with both hands, creating a barrier between the enemy’s weapon and the ground. With a surge of strength he managed to pull his sword up and throw the man’s arm to the side. The Northumbrian shouted in rage and jerked his sword at Jason in a stabbing motion, though the Dane managed to whirl to the side, catching the back of the man’s knees. Bright crimson blood splattered the white snow grotesquely and the man let out a horrifying scream as he crumbled to the ground. Jason made his death as quick as he could, driving his sword through the man’s shoulder blades.

He didn’t have time to think about the corpse at his feet as another man came at him. Using the other’s momentum, Jason drove his blade through his chest. The man chocked on the blood that bubbled in his throat and it splattered over Jason’s shoulder. Another man came, then another. The sound of battle died in Jason’s ears and all he could hear was his own harsh breathing and the pounding of his heart. His body burned with heat, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold temperatures around him. The blond lost himself in the fighting, it was what he was meant for. He lost count of how many men he killed but their bodies piled up in the snow. A fire had begun in one of the peasant huts and the air was acrid with black smoke. The villagers had escaped, some of them falling over the corpses littering the ground – they were a mixture of Danes and Northumbrians, though there was a much larger amount of the latter.

The enemies stopped coming eventually, after Gods know how long. Jason had lost the count of time and still stood tense, his feet planted firmly on the ground that was once snowy and now turned to a mixture of mud and blood. Scarlett droplets fell from the blade of his sword and he looked around the village, but no more men seemed to be coming. The blond counted the Danes that were left – eight, including himself. That meant four dead. Four bodies that would have to be dragged back to the village. They wouldn’t get back until nightfall.

Jason wiped his sword on a body of a dead Northumbrian, and rage still burned in him, hot and alive and uncontrollable. He needed a warm body to take the brunt of that anger.

***

Percy sat by the fire upon Jason’s return and the sight of him there, face illuminated by the flames, became a sight almost too comfortable for Jason, and he thought that if he were ever to enter this room and find the boy gone t would somehow feel incomplete. But right now seeing him did nothing good for the tumult in his body, the confusion of the thirst for blood and the desire for a bedding companion.

“Jason!” Percy jerked to his feet, dropping the book he was reading and jerking forward, as if he wanted to throw himself into the blond’s arms. He stopped himself though, doubt flickering over his handsome features, quickly replaced by worry, “Jason you’re hurt.”

The Dane truthfully couldn’t feel anything physically – no pain, just the tension of his own muscles, the restlessness in his blood. He hadn’t bothered to go anywhere, heading right for home upon his arrival. Now he looked down at his midsection, brushing back his muddy, ripped and blood stained fur, and below it was his equally ruined doublet, and when Jason undid it and let it slide to the ground with his furs he saw that his shirt was ripped and blood seeped from the diagonal cut.

He winced, feeling a vicious pain suddenly erupt in his body as if somehow seeing his wound he could finally feel it. The cut wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding profusely, “Fuck,” Jason swore, more in annoyance than pain or fear. Percy hurried over to him, pushing the blond’s shirt to the side. He was suddenly so close that Jason could smell his delicate musk mixed with sweat and Percy’s own sweet scent. The boy was looking down, examining Jason’s wound, clearly unaware of the effect he was having on the Dane. When his fingers brushed the man’s bare skin Jason’s felt his blood boil and the primal hunger that pushed him to murder men in battle reignite in his stomach, but this time he wanted something different than to kill. He wanted to claim the boy in front of him, wanted to do it more than he had before. Subconsciously he had craved for Perseus for the past weeks if not months, had dreamt about pressing his mouth to the boy’s neck the way he had before.

He leaned down and forward, the side of his nose brushing Percy’s. The boy’s eyes fluttered upward in surprise and the blond’s gaze slid down to his mouth. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against Percy’s lips. He _needed_ him.

“J-Jason?” Percy asked, and he seemed terrified by the blond’s sudden closeness. Jason couldn’t do anything about it though, his body was burning with the primal desire to _claim,_ and for the first time he knew just a random warm body wouldn’t suffice. He wanted the boy in front of him and _only_ him. He drove him into the wall with a sudden push, pressing him into the wood, hands on his hips. His fingers dug into the boy’s supple flesh and even the Prince’s sharp inhale and the hands scrambling at Jason’s in an attempt to get him off weren’t enough to deter the man. The bruises Jason had mapped out on his neck hadn’t faded yet completely and now the blond just wanted to mark him again, ensure that the boy belonged to him completely, in more ways than one, “J-Jason stop-”

Jason buried his face in the boy’s neck and started kissing it, lips moving against the heated skin of the Northumbrian – he didn’t bite or mark the way he was forced to before, but kissed the way he had always wanted. He grazed his teeth over the boy’s pulse but didn’t bite down, listening to Percy’s weak protests and laboured breath. His hands stopped trying to pry Jason’s fingers off his hips and instead just rested on his hands, almost as if he needed to hold onto the blond.

Jason was completely lost in the heat that had erupted in his stomach and was consuming all of his body. It was as if he were still in battle, energy rushing through him. His hands travelled from Percy’s hips to his back, where he grabbed handfuls of the boy’s arse in his hands and squeezed, probably rougher than he should’ve. Percy didn’t protest though, surprisingly, back arching as if he wanted Jason to grab him more. Meanwhile the blond’s mouth travelled up the graceful curve of Percy’s neck, his stubble catching on the soft skin. He drew the boy closer as he bit gently at his jaw, then harder on the lobe of his ear, earning a breathless moan from the boy. If Percy had been inclined to remain passive he gave up on it now, hands sliding up Jason’s chest and then further up to grip at his overlong hair.

Jason found Percy’s mouth, unable to keep apart from him any longer. He indulged in the softness of the boy’s lips, the kiss rough from the start. He delved his tongue into the velvetiness of the Northumbrian’s mouth and Percy moaned outright, turning his head upwards to improve the angle, his own tongue coming to tangle with Jason’s, his fingers gripping the blond’s hair tightly. The edge of pain of the boy’s grip just made Jason want to take him more. One of his hands slid beneath the boy’s cotton shirt, the other one still gripping the boy’s buttocks. His fingers dragged over the Prince’s nipples and pressed hard against the hard muscles of his stomach. Jason was aching with need – he had repressed his desire for Percy for what seemed like years and holding the boy now, kissing him, was like nothing Jason could’ve ever expected. His body was hard and his hands clinging onto Jason desperate, but his mouth was soft and the moans spilling from his lips breathy and shaky.

Percy got more aggressive, which surprised Jason. The Prince’s teeth pulled at Jason’s bottom lip, and he kept the blond impossibly close, refusing to allow him to pull away. Jason let go of Percy’s ass and wrapped that arm around his waist, turning them around swiftly and walking them backwards to the bed without ever breaking away from Percy’s delectable mouth. They fell onto the furs tangled together, so close that the Dane couldn’t distinguish where he ended and Percy started.

The Northumbrian’s shirt rode up to his chest and Jason just wanted to get rid of their fabrics between them. It might’ve been freezing outside in the snowy yard and even in the fire-less rooms of the house, but in this bedroom and in this bed, it was as hot as if it were hell. The blond’s hands found Percy’s shirt and he tried to pull it off the boy’s head but he had lost all his patients and so he just grabbed the boy’s collar and ripped the shirt through the middle. Percy gasped into his mouth, the shirt hanging limply around his elbows now.

“You’re still covered in blood,” he whispered when Jason drew back to pull his own restricting shirt off. For a moment he thought the Prince minded but then Percy reached up and wiped at the splatter on Jason’s neck with the sleeve of his ruined shirt. Jason grabbed his hand and in a moment of sudden tenderness he kissed his palm. Percy tugged him back down and wrapped his legs around the blond’s waist, dragging him close to his body. Their clothed erections pressed together urgently and Jason hissed in desire.

Percy’s face was flushed with pleasure as the blond dragged his breeches off of him. The two scrambled at each other’s waist, stripping down, clumsy in their eagerness. They constantly had to stop to crash their mouths together or to grasp at each other’s bodies. When they were finally naked they wasted no time. Jason’s intentions turned altruistic and he just wanted to see Percy dissolve into pleasure. His palm found the boy’s shaft and the Northumbrian cried out, not expecting it. Jason smirked and caught the boy’s mouth with his own, licking at his lips. He enjoyed the hot weight of the boy’s cock in his hand, and it jerked when Jason gave it a stroke. Percy swore in his native tongue and Jason didn’t know what he was saying, though it was clear that he was enjoying himself.

Jason stroked the boy, hungrily watching his face as he writhed on the furs, grasping at them with his hands. There were still pink scars on his wrists from the ropes and seeing them made some of Jason’s anger increase, which caused him to be rougher with the Prince beneath him.

“Ah... _Ah!”_ Percy moaned, hips stuttering up so his cock slid through Jason’s fist. His eyes were closed and Jason ducked his head to catch the boy’s nipple between his teeth, “O-Oh God! O-Oh... _Jason-“_

His legs slid from the blond’s waist to his shoulders as the blonde crawled lower, nipping at the Prince’s skin and sucking more bruises into it. Percy was slowly getting lost in the pleasure, clearly never having another man’s hands on him, and he grasped blindly at anything he could get – Jason’s hair, the furs, his ruined shirt. The evidence of his pleasure pooled on top of his pink, hard cock, sliding down and adding to the easy slide of the Viking’s rough palm. Percy seemed to be losing control over himself, even when he bit his lip he was unable to keep back his noises and his thighs trembled against Jason’s chest. The desire of the blond was rising intensely, his insides twisting with his attempt at self control. His fingerprints were embedded in Percy’s skin but he wanted more evidence of his claim over the boy over his body.

“Mhmm... _J-Jason_ I-I...,” Percy was whimpering, pulling at his lip, trying to breathe and speak and unable to do either, his hands finally finding purchase on the blond’s biceps, fingers digging in.

“I want to take you,” Jason admitted, his voice hoarser than he anticipated. Percy pried his eyes open and looked at the blond with eyes darker than usual. The Dane waited for the protests and disagreements and religion arguments, and his cock throbbed at the thought of having to let the boy out of his arms now. Instead Percy’s half-lidded eyes softened and his hands slid up Jason’s arms to cradle at his stubbly cheeks, pulling him down and allowing his legs to re-wrap around the blond’s waist.

“Alright,” he whispered, pressing his mouth desperately to Jason’s, “Do it,” another kiss, a gasp into the Dane’s mouth, “Take me.”

Jason lost control over himself and the true Viking in him came out. He drove forward, forcefully pushing the dark haired boy into the furs, his mouth and teeth finding the non-marred side of Percy’s neck. He grabbed the boy’s jaw roughly and pushed his head back for better access, and Percy moaned and without thinking about it much Jason pushed his fingers into his mouth. Percy moaned and Jason bit at his neck, thrusting their cocks, trapped between their sweaty, hot bodies, together. The Prince sucked on Jason’s fingers, making the Dane distractedly think of that same mouth sucking on something else.

Jason knew what he had to do and despite his rough edge he had no desire to hurt Percy. He nudged the boy’s legs apart and pulled his wet fingers from the boy’s mouth, bringing them down between Percy’s legs. The Prince didn’t protest at all, cradling Jason’s head into his neck, as if he completely trusted the Dane. His digit found the boy’s entrance and he pushed one of them against it. At first Percy’s body attempted to keep Jason out but after a particularly hard bite to his neck the boy melted into the furs and allowed Jason’s finger to slide into his passageway with a wet sound.

“Oh Lord...,” Percy groaned, arching his back and threading his fingers through Jason’s head. The Dane could feel the heat around the digit and he gave Percy mere seconds to adjust before he started to move it, dragging it along Percy’s walls as he pulled out and pushing back in with a twist. Percy allowed him to pull back, one of his hands still gripping the blond’s hair, sweat beading on his forehead, “J-Jason,” he whined, pushing back against the Danes hand. Stress and anxiety and weeks of repressed sexual desire were coming out through the desperation in both of the men. Percy rocked against the Dane, and in response Jason got another finger, and then another. He was rough, borderline violent, preparing Percy roughly and the Northumbrian seemed to enjoy it, thrashing on the bed, his manhood twitching against his stomach and spreading slick over his muscles.

“S-Stop,” Percy gasped suddenly, pushing at Jason’s hand, “Put it in,” he was breathless, aching.

Jason didn’t have to be told twice. As Percy twisted on the bed, revealing his backside to the blond shamelessly, pushing back against his aching cock. Jason spat on his palm and slicked up his erection. He thrust shallowly over the small of his back, trying to keep himself from exploding just yet. Percy looked at him over his shoulder, dark hair sticking to his forehead, eyes dark with lust, his lips swollen.

“ _Odin_ ,” Jason growled, plastering himself over the boy’s back as he guided his member inside him. His hole offered some resistance but gave up after a moment and as slowly as he could Jason buried himself in the Prince. Percy’s breath hitched and his head fell forward into his folded arms. Jason wanted to make sure the boy was alright but his voice seemed to have disappeared so all he could do was shower the younger boy’s back in kisses, nosing at his neck, letting out hoarse moans under his breath as he felt the Northumbrian’s intense, incredible heat envelop him completely.

They were joined for that moment, wrapped up in each other, sharing the impossible heat running through their bodies. Percy was shaking, letting out small whimpers, and suddenly there were words pushing at Jason’s mouth, words holding power and ones he knew were true in his heart. But it was too much and too fast and Jason didn’t want to scare Perseus so he pulled away from the boy, sweat running down his back as he grasped the Prince’s hips, running his palms over the soft, pale globes of his arse, and he started thrusting.

He was gentle for all of a minute and then he started to ram his rod into the boy, watching Percy’s hole clench around his cock, pink and glimmering wet. Percy cried out every time Jason impaled him, his posture shaking. The blond felt a rage of pleasure go through him like an inferno – being like this was better than battle, better than feasts, better than any person he had ever taken before. He fucked Percy and his whole body felt it, his heart pounded, his stomach was all in knots, and everything but the Northumbrian was blurry.

“Jason, Jason, _Jason,”_ Perseus was whining, high pitched and desperate, the muscles in his back rippling beneath his skin marred by kisses, “Jason...God...oh God...”

The blond’s thrusts grew harder and more violent if that was possible and sobs spilled from Percy’s mouth as he helplessly clawed at the bed, “Fuck,” Jason groaned, “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Percy sounded simultaneously ecstatic and shocked, “I-I can feel you i-inside me- _nghh!”_ he cried out as Jason plunged into his heat over and over, both of them tethering on the edge of ecstasy and barely aware of their surroundings, “J-Jason!”

Perseus’ arm was moving furiously beneath his hips as he brought himself to completion and the fire inside Jason’s body grew to its peak and he climaxed deep inside the Northumbrian, his world fading to white. He was vaguely aware that he was still gripping the boy’s waist as he tried to come down from his peak. The boy below him had collapsed and was gasping against the pillows.

Jason didn’t know what to do now. His primal hunger was gone and now he was beginning to feel guilty – there were bruises on Percy’s neck and bruises on his shoulders and hips but unlike the two previous encounters this time they were inflicted as a type of claim. Normally when he finished with a whore he pulled out of them, allowed them to dress and with a quiet thankyou he asked them to leave. But Percy wasn’t a whore, and Jason’s heart told him that the thing to do was envelop the boy in his arms and hold him and stroke his hair and kiss him.

Gently he pulled out of the boy and the pearly evidence of his ecstasy slid between Perseus’ thighs.

“Percy,” Jason said softly.

“I’m alright,” Percy chocked out as if he knew exactly what Jason was feeling. He collapsed on his side and Jason slid off the bed. He walked sluggishly over to the basin in the corner and dipped a cloth in the water there, returning to carefully clean off Percy. The boy allowed him to do so, his eyes closed, sweaty hair drying into soft waves. When the blond finished he piled the furs on top of Percy, making sure the boy’s naked body was warm, shrugging on his breeches. And then he hovered by the bed, unsure of what to do next.

Percy cracked his sapphire eyes open, “Are you just going to stand there and stare?” he asked hoarsely, sliding his pale hand from beneath the furs and offering it to the Dane. Jason carefully slid his fingers through Percy’s and the dark haired boy surprisingly used his strength to pull Jason forward, onto the bed.

The Dane smiled and climbed the rest of the way under the furs, dragging Percy’s body to his. They didn’t talk, they didn’t have to. As Jason leaned his forehead against the other boy’s and kissed him softly and wondered if he could always be this happy and content.

He couldn’t.

In the morn he was woken by a ruckus at his front door and Percy barely had time to scramble from the bed and curl by the dead fire pit before there were men storming into the room. They were Jason’s friends – Manning and Frode and Dag.

“Jason!” Dag exclaimed, his beard and mouth red from the wine he oft drank, “Get up at once friend!”

“What is it?” Jason demanded, on his feet in seconds, reaching for the sword by his bedside.

“It’s your sister,” Frode, whose mother had been an oriental slave, had gentle eyes and a murderous first, “She has been captured by the Northumbrians!”

“ _What?!”_ Jason and Percy demanded simultaneously.

“Silence, whore,” Manning spat at him, his skin tanned despite the lack of sun. Jason would’ve reprimanded him but he was gripped with sudden, intense fear so powerful he couldn’t think about anything but Thalia.

“She was taken in the early hours of the morning,” Dag began to explain and Jason dressed hurriedly, barely aware of what he was doing, “gone on a hunt only her and Ragna, the foolish girls I know not what they were thinking. A raiding party found them as they shot down a deer – Ragna returned but they took Thalliarg.”

“They let Ragna go?” Jason demanded sharply.

“To deliver a message,” Frode said, face pale. The three men exchanged uncomfortable looks and Percy was about ready to rip their throats out.

“Well?” he growled, “What’s the message!?”

“They’ll return her in exchange for him,” Manning said in disgust, gesturing at Percy, still standing by the fire pit. The blond’s stomach twisted. How could it be that only hours ago he thought that life could not get better and now everything had fallen apart. _Why do you punish me, Odin..._

“Get up, boy,” Dag said half-heartedly to Percy, “get dressed. You’re returning to your father.”

Jason never knew he was going to be faced with the choice between his sister and the boy he had fallen helplessly in love with. His heart was torn and yet he knew what he had to do, though he couldn’t make the choice.

Percy made it for him. He reached for his shirt and shrugged it on wordlessly, pulled on his furs, his boots. He had nothing more – the things he had collected in Jason’s house, the books and the clothes and the daggers, they weren’t his. He had nothing but the things he wore on his back.

“We need to get Thalliarg back,” Dag said. Jason nodded, refusing to allow his hurt and pain to touch him right now. He could deal with this later, when his sister was safely back home.

**9 th Gói 887AD (A day later)**

Percy hadn’t expected it to be like this. When he first heard he was going back to his kingdom he felt emotions he hadn’t expected – disappointment, bitterness, heartbreak. What was there for him in Northumbria but shame? Still it was clear that he had no choice here  - he had to have Thalia return home.

He stood in a line of Danes – Jason and the three men that had come to collect him earlier, and Zeus the Boneless and half a dozen other men. They were spread out in the snow, weapons at their backs and belts, their expressions grim. Zeus looked like he was about to murder someone and Percy was sure he would be the first one to go. The Northumbrian’s were crazy kidnapping the Chief’s daughter. The tension among the men could be cut with a knife and Percy, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t come up with a plan for the future. Last night, falling asleep in Jason’s arms he had thought that he would stay there forever and yet today everything had changed.

Percy’s heart jerked when he saw the delegation of Northumbrians, returning with Thalliarg. They were dressed as if for battle, in chainmail, swords in hand. And there were almost fifty of them, appearing like demons. It was meant to be a small escort to bring Thalia back but clearly it wasn’t and the Northumbrian’s were ready for a fight. It soon became clear why.

Thalliarg walked without shoes, her only clothing consisting of a fur thrown over her shoulders. Her hair was tangled, eyes downcast, a purple bruise blossoming on her pale cheek. Percy felt a wave of nausea when he saw the girl, trying to understand what had happened and why she looked like that. His stomach twisted. Dark spots decorated the snow between the group and it took Percy a horrified moment to realise it was Thalliarg’s blood, dripping from between her thighs.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Zeus the Boneless bellowed.

Percy felt even worse when he saw that his own father stood at the head of the delegation, expressionless but with a look of success in his eyes, “An eye for an eye, Zeus,” he called back, “what you did to my son we did to your daughter. Now we are even.”

Except nobody had raped Percy. He wanted to scream that at his father but the words wouldn’t come from his mouth. He had no breath left in his lungs and he would’ve cried if he could, except his body seemed to be deteriorating on the inside. Zeus bellowed in rage but due to the sheer amount of Northumbrians there was little he could do. Someone told Percy to walk to the other side and he did so, feeling like a walking corpse, completely detached from reality, trekking from the snow.

Poseidon shoved Thalliarg forward, and she crumbled to her knees in the snow. Jason dashed forward to his sister, drawing her to her feet and into his arms. Zeus and Poseidon exchanged angry words that Percy couldn’t hear, too preoccupied with staring at Thalia and Jason, clutching onto each other. _Father forgive us all,_ he began praying under his breath but it only left him feeling more hollow.

Poseidon was suddenly at Percy’s side, “Son,” he said, going to clasp his shoulder but stopping himself, as if he were disgusted, “It’s good to have you back.”

“You shouldn’t have done that to her,” Percy whispered, “the Danes treated me well.”

“It matters not, the whore deserved it,” Poseidon said dismissively, turning Percy away from the Danes. It was only when the boy had walked a few steps did it hit him that not only had he not said goodbye to the man he had fallen in love with, but he would never see him again.

***

Percy was a warrior he shouldn’t be _crying,_ and yet he couldn’t seem to stop. He and the delegation hadn’t made it all the way to Northumbria because nightfall had caught them too fast. Instead they had put up in a small English village where they had been welcomed with open arms, the people thankful the soldiers were Northumbrians and not Danes. There was a feast to celebrate Percy but all the food and drink had tasted like ash in his mouth and he had retired to bed early. He had gotten his own chamber and so the moment he laid on the bed he felt comfortable enough to completely crumble.

The furs didn’t smell like Jason and the bed was cold. More than that Perseus blamed himself for what happened to Thalia. He remembered how terrified he had been among the Danes the first nights and he couldn’t imagine how Thalliarg felt, violated in the most inhumane way. It made Percy sick and yet all he could do about it was cry, his bitter tears soaking the pillows. He clung onto them, realising that his father and all the people he had fought with were monsters, capable of things Percy never suspected they would be. The Danes would retaliate, there was no question about that, but right now Percy didn’t care. He’d never see Thalia again and never get the chance to apologise for what happened to her, and he’d never see Jason and tell him those words that weighed down at him for weeks now.

Percy wouldn’t sleep, he didn’t deserve to sleep. He tossed and turned in bed and he ached for Jason. It felt impossible to think that at the same time the previous night Percy had been the happiest he ever was and now he was a wreck.

A distant scream sounded in the distance, sluggishly pulling Percy out of his desolate thoughts. He frowned, thinking he must’ve overheard something, but then another scream came, followed by another, and suddenly bedlam ensured outside. Percy dragged himself from the bed and to the window, wiping his cheeks. There was a peculiar amber glow in the dark sky, and Percy knew all too well what it was – a fire. The village was on fire.

It took him seconds to drag his clothes and boots on. He strapped his sword, which his father had returned to him at the feast, to his waist and ran outside through the dark inn that he was staying in. He spilled outside into slushy snow, and saw men and women running around like headless chicken. The air tasted of smoke and Percy saw with horror that the feast hall he had ate in mere hours ago was up in flames, as well as some of the surrounding houses.

And there was a slaughter going on – the Danes has come to envoke their revenge faster than anticipated. Percy’s heart stuttered in his chest as he saw a Viking spear a man who had been running away. Bodies littered the ground and Percy didn’t know which side to fight on. _Just don’t fight,_ he told himself, and that thought made him feel lighter. He turned on his heel and went to run into the darkness. He couldn’t be Prince Perseus anymore, not with what his father had done.

He ran only a few steps before he tripped over something, almost landing on the ground. The boy caught him at the last moment and looked at the dark thing he had hit. It was a corpse. Percy’s heart twisted. It wasn’t _just_ a body – it was his father’s.

Poseidon looked up at the sky with glazed over, unseeing eyes, blood smeared over his mouth, a gaping wound in his stomach so deep it was black. Clearly he had attempted to run from the fire too, but had only made it a few steps from the inn. Percy felt sick, but he didn’t feel sadness or remorse. His father fucking deserved to die, and Perseus hoped he burned in hell for what he did to him, and for what he did to Thalia.

“Percy!”

The voice made Percy’s heart jump again and the boy was afraid that the organ wouldn’t be able to take much more. He looked up from his father’s corpse and saw Jason a few feet away, splattered in blood, blond hair slicked back with sweat, eyes slightly wild.

“Jason,” Percy whispered, “Oh _God,_ Jason.”

He threw himself at the blond as all the tension left his body. Fuck the fire, fuck the massacre. Percy collided with Jason’s hard chest and the blond caught him upon reflex and held him tightly, dropping his sword in order to wrap both his muscled arms around the boy and cling onto him.

“Thank Odin,” Jason whispered, over and over, pressing kisses into Percy’s head and face, “I thought I was too late. I thought they’d have killed you...”

Percy didn’t have words to describe the crushing feeling that suffocated him. He had so many feelings for Jason and he couldn’t voice them, not now. He still heard screaming in the distance, but he knew he couldn’t fight for either the Danes or the Northumbrians, only for himself and for Jason right now.

“I need to get you out of here,” Jason muttered, completely detached from reality. That was alright since Percy was near hysterical himself. The blond grabbed his wrists and his hands were wet with blood, but despite that, Percy didn’t care. He was overjoyed to be back with the Viking and just the fact that Jason had came back for him made his heart swell up so much that the boy couldn’t utter a word as the Dane drew him out of the ransacked village and into the surrounding woods.

Neither of them cared about their ‘people.’ Percy was still disgusted at what the Northumbrians had done and Jason clearly didn’t condone the burning of the village. Neither of them spoke as they ran, their breaths coming out laboured, twigs snapping at their hair and faces. For a moment they were like wild wolves, dashing between dark trees in the light of the glowing moon. The world was mythical and beautiful, bathed in cold moonlight, the snow still lying in a thin blanket on the ground. The taste of freedom was sweet and heavy on Percy’s tongue but he wasn’t a wolf, and he couldn’t run forever.

“J-Jason!” he rasped out, his lungs aching with the need for air. He stopped running and bent over, his hands on his knees, gasping. Jason, who had ran a few more steps, circled back. His face was flushed and his eyes wild, clothes stained with blood.

“We need to keep going,” he said.

Percy looked up at him, panting, “Who are y-you running from?” he asked. The blond blinked as if shocked by that question – it was as if he had lost himself for a moment, forgetting where and who he was.

“I don’t know where to go,” he said quietly. Percy straightened up, finding it easier to breathe now. They were far, far away from the village, the only noises surrounding them were ones of a nearby river rushing past and the occasional hoot of an owl. The Northumbrian stepped towards Jason, close enough to touch but not quite doing it.

“We can go back to your village,” he said softly, reaching up to brush Jason’s locks from his forehead. The Dane had a cut on his cheek, and it was bloodied, “You can say you want me back, because I’m your property.”

Jason’s face twisted and he reached out, cupping Percy’s cheek, “You’re _not_ my property,” he said passionately. _God, I love him,_ the Northumbrian thought distractedly.

“No,” he murmured, “But I _am_ yours.”

Jason leaned forward and captured his lips in a shockingly sweet kiss, that soon turned to one of roughness and determination as wild passion burned through both their bodies – the relief of having found one another left them on the edge of ecstasy. Jason had Percy up against a tree in moments, the rough bark scratching at the boy’s back. Percy lost himself in the blond, forgetting the cruel world around him. They stripped off their clothes, unfeeling to the winter air around them, their fiery hands hot enough to warm their skin. They kissed and panted into each other’s mouths, nails digging into flesh, blood of their enemies smeared between them. There were bites and bruises and marks, fingers tangling in hair. Jason lifted Percy, using the tree as a leverage as he slid into the boy and reverently the Prince whispered _yes, yes, yes_ underneath his breath as the blond fucked him against the bark, scraping his back lightly in the most pleasant way. The snow melted around them, a wolf howled in the distance, but the two men were too lost in each other to notice.

**10 th Gói 887AD (A day later)**

“I will not have it!” Zeus slammed his fist on the table, shaking the clay cups littering it. Behind him Leto flinched and Jason would’ve done so too if he wasn’t so used to his father’s outburst of anger, “I will not have another Northumbrian set foot in this village unless they are a whore or a slave!”

“He is a whore,” Jason said coldly and Percy played the part well, staring at his feet, “I will exact my revenge for Thalliarg on his body and make him feel the pain she did,” he lied. Zeus’ eyes narrowed but there must’ve been something in his son’s expression that convinced him.

“I want him bloodied and bruised,” he growled, “unable to walk, grovelling at your feet. If you won’t destroy him completely I will kill him, Odin help me.”

“As you wish, father,” Jason said calmly and, as if to prove to his father that Percy was exactly what he had just claimed he was, he grasped his wrist roughly and jerked him to the door. The boy let out a whimper so believable that the Dane almost stopped, but when they walked out into the cold night, out of Zeus’ sight, his hand slid to Jason’s and he squeezed it hurriedly, offering him a pale smile.

 Jason wanted to tell him that he loved him then, but he decided to wait until the warm, safe confines of their bedroom in order to do so. He would do as Zeus asked – he would bruise and wreck the boy, but he would also treat him tenderly and love him as if he were his bride.

“I’m sorry about your father,” he said quietly as they veered their way through the village. People were spilling outside the mess hall, drunk and laughing, and the ringing of steel hitting steel echoed through the campsite.

“I’m not,” Percy admitted quietly, “Maybe that’s not... _Northumbrian_ of me, but he was a monster. I never thought he’d be capable of doing something like that...,” he shook his head and Jason knew he meant the rape of Thalia. He wanted to reach out and take the boy’s hand again but there were too many prying eyes around them.

“Jason,” a voice made the Dane stop walking and he turned around to see that Ketillaug was leaning against one of the huts, her expression gloomy and angry, “I want to exchange words,” she barked, glaring heatedly at Percy. She was the last person Jason wanted to see right now, but he had to keep up his image.

“Go,” he barked at Percy, as degradingly as he could, and the boy scurried into the direction of the house. The blond turned to his future wife, “What is it Kelli?”

“What will we do about Thalliarg?” the girl demanded The Dane frowned – as far as he was concerned Ketillaug didn’t care if Thalia drowned in her breakfast porridge. 

“We burned their village and slaughtered their King, our revenge had been successful.”

Ketillaug shook his head, blonde tresses falling about her face, “No,” she growled, “Not until all the Northumbrian scum are dead, starting with that pretty whore of yours.”

“Nay,” Jason’s blood ran cold, “He’s mine until I decide it’s time for his death.”

“He might be a good fuck but he’s not worth it, my love,” Ketillaug’s suddenly soft voice didn’t suit her harsh words, “I say give him to the warriors to have their fun, and then throw him to the dogs.”

“Watch your mouth, Ketillaug,” Jason’s eyes narrowed, “I won’t have you speak to me like that. Percy is _mine,_ and I don’t share my whores.”

He realised his mistake too late. A faint smile played on Ketillaug’s face, cold and furious, “Percy, huh? The whore has a pet name,” she shook his head and closed the distance between her and Jason, slinging her arms around his neck, “Let us not fight over this, my love. Come, drink with me to the demise of the enemy and to our approaching union.”

“Nay, I need to get back-“ Jason started.

“To your whore?” Ketillaug barked, arms tightening around Jason’s neck, “He can wait, perfectly safe in your _home_ ,” she spat the last word.

Jason’s blood chilled at the sudden sinister tone in the girl’s voice. He slid from under her arms and looked at her, his heart racing with fear and panic. The blond touched his sword at his waist, “What did you do, Ketillaug?” he asked coldly, recognising the maniacal gleam in the woman’s eye.

“He deserves it, Jason,” she whispered, a smirk on his face.

Jason would’ve killed her, but his body started running before he could draw his sword.

***

Rough hands gripped at Percy’s body. The boy liked rough hands...as long as they were Jason’s. The Dane could’ve pressed a blade to his skin and the Northumbrian still wouldn’t have been afraid. He was afraid now, more than he thought it was possible.

He had entered the bedroom, and it had been cold and dark, and the moment he stepped over the threshold there had been people grabbing him, dragging him to the bed and throwing him on like a sack of potatoes before he even had time to react. They were Danes, that much was clear, big and shaggy and hovering over Percy like shadows.

“He _is_ a pretty one,” one of them cooed, fingers digging into Percy’s hip.

“No-,” the boy tried to draw his dagger but another Dane grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head in one rough, painful, effortless motion, while another clamped a rancid hand over his mouth to muffle his protest. Hot-white terror erupted in the boy when he realised what was happening.

“We’re going to do what we should’ve done from the beginning,” one of them growled, and a cruel laugh followed his words. Jason tried to kick at them but another set of hands grabbed his ankles as if he were a doll. How many where there? Percy couldn’t tell. He saw their gleaming eyes and teeth and felt their intruding hands as they shoved his shirt up and ripped it off his chest, but he couldn’t pinpoint who was doing this to him.

He had never felt so helpless before. Rough fingers pushed at him as if he was some inanimate _thing,_ jerking his head to the side, pulling his trousers off. Percy tried to struggle but only managed to create an ache in his wrists, unable to free himself. The mocking laughter of the Danes echoed in his head and the boy knew it was over – he was going to be raped right here, on the bed that he and Jason had made love. Was this how Thalia had felt? Nausea boiled in the boy’s stomach. God, that girl didn’t deserve what happened to her. But as Percy felt calloused fingers push into his undergarments he realised that neither did he – no matter the amount of killing and lying and sins that he had committed **he did not deserve this.**

It stopped as fast as it started by the sound of the door banging open. Hands jerked away from Percy as if he was made of fire, leaving behind only disgusting traces. Percy’s head snapped to the side and his first thought was _Jason,_ but it wasn’t the blond who stood in the doorway. It was Thalliarg.

She looked better than the last time Percy had seen her, dressed in leather and furs, her short hair framing her face. There were dark smudges under her eyes that suggested a lack of sleep but a fire burned in her face, “Get away from him,” she growled, drawing her sword.

“He should experience what you did,” one of the Vikings barked.

“Nay,” Thalia snapped, “That is not your revenge. Move away from him at once!”

Then Jason flew in, like a thunder storm, so sudden that Percy thought that the shadows had come to life. His weapon gleamed in the moonlight falling from the window as he dashed around the room. A cry sounded, a groan, a dull thump of a body hitting the floor. A sword was drawn but it also fell with a loud sound. Percy scurried up the bed, terrified, his heart pounding.

On the ground lay five bodies – so there was five of them then – and Jason stood above, looking like fury personified, wet with blood again. Percy wondered if he would ever see the blond free of the marks it left on him. And then the realisation of what had happened hit him – the Dane had just killed five of his own men...for Percy.

The Northumbrian started to tremble uncontrollably. He could still feel the sickening drag of the fingers of the men across his skin – they hadn’t succeeded in their disgusting plan, and yet the violation Percy had felt at their attempt sat heavy in his gut. He stared at Jason, too shocked to cry or scream or be angry. He felt hollow.

Jason dropped his sword and a softness appeared on his face, “Percy?” he asked softly. The boy didn’t reply, just continued to stare at the blond. He was half-naked, half sitting, half laying on the bed like a cornered animal. Thalliarg hovered by the door and the Dane approached Percy hesitantly, as if scared that the boy would also be afraid of him, “Percy, say something,” Jason whispered, carefully reaching out to touch Percy’s face.

The boy didn’t flinch away from him. Despite what had just happened and the fact that the thought of someone ever touching him again made Percy feel sick, Jason’s touch brought tranquillity and peace into the boy’s being. He cradled the Northumbrian’s face as if he was something precious.

“It’s alright,” Percy whispered, though it really wasn’t. He needed to keep himself together. Jason nodded, stroking his cheek gently.

“You need to leave,” Thalia said abruptly. Her face was pale and grim and she was hugging herself protectively, “If father finds out you murdered these men for Perseus...he’ll go ballistic and kill you both.”

Jason nodded, “Aye, you’re right. We can’t stay here.”

“We can’t leave!” Percy protested weakly, “Where would we go?”

“I have some money,” Jason offered, carefully pulling Percy off the bed. When the boy looked at the dead bodies of the men who tried to violate him he felt bile rise in his throat.

“There are horses in the stables, and if you take them and head for a port nobody will notice anything until you’re long gone,” Thalia said quickly, “nobody would question the sudden arrival of two fishermen brothers.”

“What about you?” Jason questioned, “You must come with us.”

Thalliarg shook her head, “No. I must stay here, the only place where I am safe.”

“Men are monsters regardless if they are your own people or not,” Jason said bitterly, “Father is a monster. He ordered this,” he gestured at the corpses lining the ground, their blood soaking into the carpet Percy had sat on so many times. He stood there now, feeling as if he was trapped in his own grave.

Thalliarg bit her lip, “I...”

“I will protect you, sister,” Jason approached her and clasped her hands and, like Percy, she seemed alright with his touch, “we can start anew together, the three of us. You and Perseus as a couple, I as your brother. You’re right – nobody would question it.”

Hesitancy flickered in the girls eyes but then her resolve hardened. She looked at Percy, who nodded slowly. If he wanted anybody to be safe from the horrors of the Danes and the Northumbrians, it was the two siblings in the room with him. Thalliarg nodded curtly in response, “I will gather some things, but we must fly.”

She disappeared from the room, leaving Percy and Jason alone with the bodies. The blond turned to the Northumbrian. Percy kept his eyes firmly off the corpses.

“I am so sorry,” Jason whispered, staring at his feet, unable to meet Percy’s eye.

“I’m fine,” the boy whispered, feeling some warmth return to his body, the shock dissipating, “I’m not hurt.”

“They should’ve never touched you,” Jason squeezed his eyes shut. Percy carefully picked his way through the corpses, to the blond. It was too quiet and peaceful after the scenes that had just taken place, and it could’ve been the men’s last moment of harmony for a long time.

Percy took Jason’s hands in his, enjoying the feeling of their fingers sliding together. The dark haired boy leaned up slightly, pressing his forehead to the Dane’s. He never thought it would all end like this. Jason’s eyes looked at him with softness and sadness and adoration. He licked his lips, clearly preparing to say something, but Percy was faster.

“ _Ek ann þér_ ,” he murmured. _I love you._

It wasn’t shocking, but the words felt right, filling Percy with warmth. Jason wrapped his arms around the boy’s waist and brushed their noses together before drawing him into his chest and clutching him close, revelling in his safety and warmth.

“ _Ek ann þér,”_ he whispered back, heartbroken but sincere. It was all Percy wanted to hear as he buried his face in the blond’s shoulder, enjoying the calm before the storm.

 **15 th Sólmánuður** **892AD (5 years later)**

**Danemark.**

Percy’s boat washed up gently on the white sand beach of Danemark. Above him the sun was lowering in the horizon and despite the fact it was the height of summer here the air was windy, a distant chill in it. Percy adored it – the salty smell of the water the screech of the gulls overhead. When he stepped out of his fishing boat his bare feet sunk into the sand and the man couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face. He brushed his dark hair from his face and clasped the rope attached to his vessel, dragging it further onto the beach with some difficulty. By the time he tied it to a heavy rock his muscles were aching and sweat made his shirt stick to his back. But that wasn’t the end of his labours.

Percy reached into the boat and pulled out the net full of fish he had caught in the day. He slipped his hands among their slippery, scaly bodies and picked out half a dozen nice looking ones, tying them to his belt before taking the rest of the catch to a nearby hole, hidden in the shadow of a cave. The hole was filled with sea water and here Percy kept his catch, so it didn’t rot in the sun, a disaster that had happened to him the first couple of times he attempted this. He soon learned nobody wanted to buy rotten fish at the market.

With dinner dangling from his belt Percy climbed the steep slope that enveloped the beach, hands grasping onto long grass that was being tousled by the wind. Up on the small cliff it was even windier than by the water, but still pleasant enough. A small house stood near the cliff’s edge, made of wood with a thatched roof of straw. It was painted white and enclosed with a short stone wall. Sitting on the wall was a girl with short dark hair, looking over sheep grazing on the overlong grass with a thoughtful look on her face.

“Thalliarg!” Percy called, and the girl’s head snapped up. A smile spread over her features and she lifted her hand in greeting.

“Percy! Was the catch good?”

“Brilliant!” Percy reached the girl – his friend, his sister – and embraced her. She wrinkled her nose.

“You reek of the sea.”

“It’s a good smell,” Perseus teased. He left the girl to her sheep watching and disappeared into the small house.

Inside there were three small rooms – a front room that served as a dining room and kitchen, with a low ceiling and small windows that didn’t let in much light, furnished with a rough wooden table and a fire pit with a large pot hanging over it. The walls were decorated with a mixture of pots, pans and deadly looking knives while dried herbs hung from the ceiling. Percy took the fish off his belt and placed them on the table before walking through the room and into his own bedroom. Here there was a large, restful looking bed piled high with furs, another fire pit and a small shelf of books. Two swords laid in the corner by a chest of garments, growing rusty with disuse. He smiled at them with a memory of once fondness and began to change his clothes.

It had been years since he abandoned his life as a warrior. Here, in Danemark nobody asked questions and the neighbours were sparse. There were little raids here though and almost no news of the plunder of the Danes in Anglia. That was good – Percy didn’t wish to know if Zeus the Boneless was still alive and searching for his two children and the slave. He lived in bliss and peace and happiness.

When Percy ventured back out into the kitchen, Thalia had started a stew going, throwing the fresh catch of the day into the pot, humming under her breath. Looking at her, bustling about, Percy was happy that she had come with them, that day when the whole room had been covered in blood and bodies. He couldn’t imagine living without the girl, who was so dear to him.

The sound of hooves brought Percy to reality and a grin broke over his features, “Jason’s back from the market!” he said excitedly and bounded outside like a child. The sky was streaked with pink and amber and Percy waited impatiently by the stone wall, watching an approaching cart rumble through the green planes of the cliff. The sound of the sea soothed him as the cart came to a stop a few yards away, the ebony horse at the head of the carriage tossing its mane in impatience.

“Sold everything today!” Jason said proudly, jumping off the cart.

Jason hadn’t aged much in the past five summers, but he had grown out his beard and now it was a golden frame around his jaw. Percy though it suited him, and his heart tumbled in his chest at the sight of the man.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, leaning on the stone wall. Jason approached him, grinning, and grasped Percy’s face in his hands pulling him in for a loving, passionate kiss. The dark haired boy laid his hands on top of his lovers and kissed the smile from his lips, leaning forward. He let out a breathless laugh when Jason grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him over the wall, so their bodies were pressed together.

“I missed you,” the blond whispered, his beard scratching Percy’s face with every kiss. The man leaned into him.

“It’s only been a day,” he whispered. Jason hummed in agreement, his blue eyes never leaving Percy’s.

“I know. I missed you regardless.”

“I missed you too,” Percy admitted, arms sliding around the other man’s broad shoulders.

“Supper!” Thalliarg called from the house, well aware of what she was interrupting. The two men exchanged an exasperated but fond look and brought the horse into the stable in the back of the house before going in themselves.

Life wasn’t perfect. Winters were cold and unforgiving, and the memories of the past plagued the tenants of the small house by the beach, but none of the three had ever asked for perfection. They had asked for peace, away from their bloodied legacy, and that was what they managed to create for themselves here – a house full of love and laughter and hope for a better world.


	3. I Should Be Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy is the youngest son of the Sultan, and he happens to like men even though he has a Harem full of women. Nico, his childhood best friend, is helplessly in love with him and desperately hates Jason, the new servant who sleeps with Percy almost every night. The arrival of Will, the new medic, further complicates the relationship of the four, but soon their hate towards each other turns to love.

**612 Years Later**

****

**1 st Mayıs** **1483**

**Kostantiniyye, Turkey.**

Perseus knew that his Harem was unconventional, but like with many things in his life he did not care. As the younger son of the Sultan he wasn’t going to inherit his father’s Harem in the Topkapi palace, where he had grown up with strict rules that had made his skin crawl, and instead he had gotten a smaller, more relaxed Harem for himself when he turned eighteen. His mother went with him and she was the one who pushed Sultan Poseidon to allow his son his own space since she was one of the few people that knew about Perseus’... _preferences..._ in bed.

He didn’t feel attracted to women in any sense which was a problem in the society he lived in. It could get him killed. Having a Harem where he was surrounded by women that he was expected to bed wasn’t ideal, and any slave man in a typical Harem would be a eunuch – meaning that they would have been castrated as children. The idea behind it was that ‘real’ men were not allowed around the concubines and female slaves of the Sultan. Percy hated the notion and so he allowed normal male slaves in his own Harem, keeping their presence a secret from the outside world. Thankfully nobody doubted Percy’s love for women due to the fact that he had married almost immediately after being gifted his own Harem, and so the man was safe from dangerous gossip...at least for the time being.

But Percy knew that his oblivious happiness couldn’t last forever, and that soon he’d have to produce a child. Just the thought sickened him. He woke each day and dreaded facing his wife, knowing that he would soon have to get her pregnant; especially since his first wife, Pinar, a beautiful Albanian woman, also preferred the company of her own sex. For now Percy attempted to diverse the attention from the lack of an heir by agreeing to take a second wife - Annabeth. The girl was originally from Russia and her parents had fled to the Ottoman Empire when she was a child. Percy’s father was taken with the girl’s pale golden hair and decided to take her and her mother to his own Harem, renaming her Adalet, planning on giving her to Perseus as one of his _Kadins,_ a beautiful wife for his son _._  The two had grown up together and unfortunately Poseidon’s purpose to have Percy and Annabeth fall in love and have a happy life together in the Harem fell flat as the two saw each other as nothing more than siblings. She was the closest person to Percy’s heart and he knew he could trust her to keep his secret by marrying her, and he also wanted to show his respect for the girl by making her one of his _Kadins_ so she had power and status over the other girls of the Harem, but Perseus had no real intentions of ever sleeping with her and producing an heir and he dreaded their impending union.

If it had been a possibility Percy would’ve preferred to marry Nico. Nico was an Italian orphan that had been brought to the Harem as a servant and Percy’s playmate at a very young age. Thankfully as a child Sadiye, Percy’s mother, had protected him from being castrated and hid the fact from the Sultan and since Nico had the same sexual preferences at Percy, him sleeping with any of the concubines was not a problem. Percy never considered Nico more than a friend and the two boys alongside Adalet were inseparable as children. Yet when it was time for Percy to move to his own Harem he made the incorrect decision of brining Nico with him. Only when they had moved from the Sultan’s watchful eye did Percy realise something; Nico was in love with him.

The Italian had never been affectionate, detached from most people apart from Adalet and Percy. When the Prince got his own Harem he noticed that the boy had become somewhat more...fond, going out of his way to touch Perseus to the point when it became blatantly obvious and borderline inappropriate. Nico was one of the few people who knew about Percy’s feelings towards men and it was beginning to feel like Nico wanted to exploit that. He was _gorgeous,_ with his dark hair and dark eyes that were softer and unlike the ones of the Ottoman people. But Percy knew that if he ever expressed his attraction towards his friend the carefully weaved relationships between his friends would crumble. He had managed to appease both Adalet and Pinar by agreeing to marry the former, and make her the second _Kadin_ of his Harem so the two women could share their quarters and have a safe space to express their love for one another, but how would he ever be able to appease Nico when he was unable to offer him anything but sex shrouded by shadows and secrecy when the boy clearly wanted more?

All these thoughts shifted through Percy’s head as he laid in his bed, listening to the birds singing sweetly outside his windows. The heavy plum canopy of his majestic bed kept the intruding brightness of the sun at bay as the young man contemplated whether he should even get up. The dreaded day of his second marriage was upon him and though Percy wasn’t mourning the actual woman he was marrying – he loved Adalet with all his heart – he was mourning the fact that he would be forced to consummate their marriage, something he had attempted and failed during his and Pinar’s wedding night.

A soft knock sounded on the door and Percy closed his eyes before sighing, “Come in.”

A few moments passed before the curtains of the canopy were pushed aside and none other than Nico appeared, looking down at Percy. He was the last person the Prince needed right now, especially when he was warm and relaxed in his bed and wanted nothing more than to remain among the pillows...preferably with his servant beneath him.

“Wake up, _s_[ _ehzade_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C5%9Eehzade) _,”_ Nico said, sounding depressed. His dark hair was overlong, falling into his eyes that appeared sad as they looked down at Percy.  Percy understood his upset; he would be unhappy too if the man he loved was getting married...though Nico hadn’t ever clearly stated his feelings for the Prince the man still knew about them somehow, he could feel it in his gut.

“I’m awake,” the Prince replied, pushing his covers to the side. Nico immediately bent down to do the bed to do it up after Percy had rumpled it in his sleep. The Prince watched him out of the corner of his eye...Nico was sweet and attractive, but the Prince knew he could never be with him, not in the world they live in, and as much as he avoided breaking the boy’s heart he knew it would be inevitable if he ever acted on his secret desire to bed the boy.

“How many _Kadins_ are you planning on having?” Nico asked suddenly as Percy dipped his hands in the bowl in the corner of the room, cleaning his face.

“I don’t know,” he replied carefully, ignoring the anger in the boy’s voice.

“You can still have at least two,” Nico continued, his movements jerky as he sorted out the bedding, “I know some of the Fortunates have been gossiping about a wedding after Pinar.”

“What, the _Ikbals?”_ Percy asked, turning to the boy, who wasn’t facing him.

“Derya and Kerime in particular,” the boy scoffed, features twisting as he pulled a face, “They’re thinking it’s some mass wedding season.”

Percy couldn’t help but feel relieved – if the girls of the Harem though the was eager to marry and bed them then they wouldn’t suspect his true nature, “I won’t be marrying after Pinar for a while,” he said.

“Not that that’s any of my business,” Nico said hurriedly, smoothing down the covers. The blush on his cheeks was clearly visible.

“You seem angry,” Percy said.

“I’m not,” Nico snapped, realising that he was only proving Percy’s point, so he cleared his throat, “There’s a new servant coming in. Some man.”

“What man?” Percy frowned, wiping his face down with a silky towel, “I don’t recall asking for more servants.”

“He’s a slave. A Greek. His name is Jason,” was all Nico said. Percy nodded, distracted,

“Right.”

The door opened and Pinar strode inside, her blue and silver dress swirling about her, throat and ears glimmering with heavy, expensive jewellery. Her brunette hair fell in graceful waves down her back and the azure veil flowing with them was pinned to her head by a tiara.

“ _Günaydın_ , husband,” she said cheerfully, happiness sparkling in her eyes. It was the only thing that made Percy glad about this whole ordeal. If he could not find love and marry a man he wanted, then at least Pinar could be with the woman she loved.

“ _Günaydın_ , love,” Perseus faked a smile as best he could as he drew his friend into his arms to kiss her cheek, “Lovely weather.”

“I came to help you dress for the ceremony,” Pinar said, “I must say that Adalet looks beautiful,” she winked playfully.

“Not that it will help the situation,” Nico pointed out. He had finished arranging the bed and now leaned against one of the poles that held up the canopy, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

“Yes, Nico, we know you’re against this union,” Pinar rolled her eyes and smoothed down the wrinkles in Percy’s silk sleeping shirt.

“But he’s right, how do I...,” the man waved a hand in the air, not wanting to voice his fears. How would he have sex with Adalet if he couldn’t get hard for her? Pinar’s expression fell and clearly the thought of her girl having sex with another person upset her, despite her knowing it was Adalet’s duty.

She cleared her throat and stepped back, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

***

Percy looked at the girl beneath him and knew, somewhere in his conscious, that she was beautiful. Her long, blonde hair was fanned out on the pillows of the Prince’s bed and her crimson wedding dress had been pushed so the swell of her breasts was visible. And yet Perseus felt no stirring inside him, no heat, no desire. Even as he caged Adalet in with his arms all he could think about was the heartbroken look on Pinar’s face when he married her lover, and the heartbroken look on Nico’s face. He didn’t want this woman and she didn’t want him and yet society forced them into a bed together.

“I’m sorry for this,” Percy whispered. Candles had been strewn around the bedroom by servants, and the light from them was soft and gold, though not dark enough to hide the obvious fact that Adalet was not a man.

“It’s alright, Perce, the woman said and attempted to smile as she reached down between Percy’s legs. The Prince flinched away from her hand, and if it were possible he was sure that his soft cock would’ve shrivelled up inside of him. Adalet looked up at him helplessly and Percy sighed, sitting back.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

Adalet also sat up, brushing her fingers through her hair, “What do you want me to do?”

“I’ll orgasm and then we’ll just...,” he waved his hand vaguely in the air. He had to get either Adalet or Pinar pregnant, or things would start to look suspicious.

“Who do you want me to get for you?” Adalet asked, rising and smoothing down her dress.

“One of the male servants,” Percy said quietly, “Preferably someone who won’t be disgusted by this,” he gestured at the bed.

“Which one do you usually have?” Adalet asked. Perseus shrugged,

“He’s left the Harem.”

Adalet nodded and anxiously slipped from the room as if she were a ghost. Percy collapsed backwards onto the pillows with a dejected sigh, eyes falling closed. He didn’t want to have sex now, but the pressure of having a child pushed down on him. The faster he could get a son the faster he could stop attempting to have sex with women.

A gentle hand on his face made his eyes snap open, and his stomach plummeted when he saw a man leaning over him – not just any random servant, no. Nico. Adalet had gotten Nico.

“What are you doing?” Percy asked quietly. The boy’s eyes were darker than normal and with no warning he swung his leg over the Prince so he was straddling his lap. Percy’s eyes widened and his cock jerked in his breeches despite his best efforts to remain soft.

“Adalet called me,” Nico murmured, and he looked halfway aroused and nervous.

“I’m not going to sleep with you, Nico,” Percy whispered, reaching up to press a hand against the boy’s hip, gently attempting to push him away. The boy’s brows furrowed and his face was shadowed, the light from the candles making a soft halo around his head.

“Why?” the boy asked, placing his hands on either side of Percy’s head, leaning down so he was too close to Percy’s face, “I’m a man. Or am I not good enough for you to get aroused?”

Percy’s half-hard cock was enough evidence to prove that Nico was more than enough, but he had to remain strong. He pushed Nico, harder this time, sitting up and forcing the boy to sit back. An expression of anger mixed with disappointment and shame shadowed Nico’s face.

“So I’m _not_ good enough?” the boy asked, no, _growled,_ as he slid off the bed.

“Nico,” Percy said apologetically, “You’re my best friend, I _can’t_ ruin you like that.”

Nico glared at him and clearly wanted to say something, but his mouth stretched into a thin line and he turned on his foot, storming from the room. Percy sighed once more and buried his face in his hands, exhaling shakily. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Perseus was only eighteen, he was too young for this. The boy rubbed his face and exhaustion descended on him – he just wanted to sleep, and forget about this disastrous marriage. He could only hope that Adalet and Pinar would have a better night than him.

“My Lord?”

The voice came from nowhere, surprising, and Percy’s head snapped up. Hovering in the doorway was a man, though he was clearly not of the Empire. His face was the cream of the Greeks, his eyes a sparkling blue. From his physique Perseus could already tell that the man was broader and taller than he was, but by his plain white garments Percy knew he was a mere slave. His hair was covered by a turban.

“Who are you?” Percy asked, sitting up as he felt vulnerable lying down in front of this stranger.

“My name is Jason, my Lord,” the servant introduced himself, “I am a new slave, purchased by the Sultan for you.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course,” Percy glanced around the room anxiously, “Is there something you wanted?”

“Sultana Adalet had asked me to come in. As I understand you have a preference towards men, my Lord.”

Percy felt blood rush to his face. The men he usually slept with were nothing like Jason – they were small and slight and timid, but the servant radiated nothing but confidence. In all honesty the Prince was intimidated but the night had already become complicated enough, and he couldn’t turn down this opportunity now. All he needed to do was orgasm, and deliver the cum to his wives.

“Come here,” Percy commanded, hoping that he sounded authoritative. He had to remain in control of the situation. Jason closed the door and followed the instruction, walking to the bed and showing no signs of fear or nerves. He towered over the Prince, who was sitting down. He felt power rolling off Jason, power that servants didn’t hold and it made Percy’s heart pound violently. He desperately wanted to hold onto his control, which had began to slip, “On your knees,” Percy said, fighting the urge to add _please_ at the end.

The man sunk to his knees without hesitation and it just succeeded to put Percy more on edge. Blood rushed south because the Prince couldn’t deny that Jason’s confidence was arousing.

“What do you want me to do, my Lord?” the servant asked, his voice low and raspy. Percy fought a shiver. With trembling hands he grabbed Jason’s head and guided it into his crotch.

“Suck,” the Prince said, happy at how steady and powerful his voice sounded. The servant paused for a moment and Perseus swore he saw a faint smile dance about his mouth before he reached for the Prince’s breeches, sliding them off the Prince’s legs easily. Percy wore nothing underneath, having anticipated having sex tonight. His half-heard member was hit by a wave of cool air and the man _did_ shiver then. He usually didn’t want to degrade people in this way yet now he thought it was the only way he could hold onto his status.

 Percy miscalculated the situation though. Jason leaned forward with the same confidence that was embedded in all his movements, and took Percy’s cock into his mouth with no hesitation. The Prince let out a hiss at the feeling of the servant’s hot, velvety mouth around him and in moments blood had rushed southward and his member grew to full hardness. It didn’t startled Jason at all, who swallowed the entirety of Perseus’ cock in one single movement, and the feeling made a spark of pleasure travel up the Prince’s spine.

“F-Fuck,” Percy chocked out, his voice taking on a shaky, higher pitch. He was too shocked by the sudden waves of pleasure breaking over him to care about his tone. His hands jerked forward and he pushed the turban off of Jason’s head, revealing the startlingly blond locks beneath that the Prince buried his fingers in. Jason’s eyes were closed, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks, looking heavenly as he bowed his head, sucking on Percy’s member.

The Prince’s mouth had fallen open and he panted for air desperately, trying to gather himself and failing miserably. Nobody had ever done this to him and his thighs trembled. His cock slid in and out of Jason’s mouth, accompanied by wet noises, and the man’s tongue swirled around the head of his sensitive cock.  Percy bit his lip, trying to hold back the noises that wanted to spill from his mouth, but was unable to keep back his moans and whimpers.

“ _Ah...nghhh..._ o-oh fuck,” Percy felt heat knot in his stomach and his pleasure grew to a crescendo and it became too hard for Percy to hold himself back. He exploded into Jason’s mouth, whining, toes curling, squeezing his eyes shut as he shivered over and over.

He panted, bones feeling like they had melted in his skin. He wanted to collapse on the bed and bathe in the afterglow, but he remembered why he had done this. Blindly, his ears ringing and vision blurred, he reached for a small bowl by his bed and shoved it under Jason’s chin.

“S-Spit it out,” he said, still out of breath.

 **17 th Mayıs** **1483 (15 days later)**

_Why can’t I just forget him? Why does it still hurt so much?_

Angrily, Nico threw a pebble into the fountain in the extensive, rich gardens of the Harem. It had been days and days since Percy had openly rejected him and it still hurt so intensely that Nico found it hard to pull himself from bed every day. Life had already been hard for him since he had to pretend to be a Eunuch and watch the person he was in love with not only marry other people, but also sleep with men who weren’t him. Nico had thought that maybe since he was a boy Perseus would have him. He didn’t have to love him back, Nico just wanted a chance...

But he had always been too nervous to actually attempt to slither into Percy’s bed. He had made do with the other servants of the Harem, and the delivery boys, sleeping with them in his tiny room and pretending it was Percy who was taking him. But on his wedding night, when Adalet had come directly to Nico asking him to sleep with Percy, the desire had proved too much It ended the way the boy had expected it to – with rejection.

Once more Nico threw a pebble into the fountain, fighting back tears. It was just his luck to fall in love with a man, and one who would never want him back. The boy fought back tears of anger and frustration. And then there was that _Jason_ man. The newcomer had clearly become Percy’s favourite as the Prince hadn’t slept with anyone else since his wedding night. Nico knew that despite the fact he hadn’t spoken to his friend since his rejection and it made him furious.

Jason was the complete opposite of him; blond, blue eyed, tall, muscular, handsome. Nico hated him with a burning passion but there was nothing he could do about it. Glumly he looked at the sun, which had almost sunk completely behind the horizon. A cold, spring wind had picked up, dancing through the nearby lemon trees and tugging on Nico’s hair. He shivered in the cold and turned back towards the beautiful, bulking building of the Harem, going back inside.

Servant girls bustled about the place and Nico avoided all of them, something they returned. He didn’t speak to the women and the women didn’t speak to him and since Nico wasn’t speaking to Percy right now and hadn’t seen Adalet, he was completely isolated. Feeling like a ghost he floated up the stairs, heading for his bedroom, wanting to turn his mind off. Tomorrow he would attempt to drown himself in his duties once more, but he knew it wouldn’t work, the same way it hadn’t worked for the past fortnight.

The boy was so lost in his depressed thoughts that he walked right into someone’s back. It felt like walking in a wall and the boy bounced back, clutching his nose, a groan spilling from his mouth.

“Apologies I didn’t-,” the person turned around and stopped talking and Nico felt his blood boil. Of course the man he had walked into was no one else but his arch-nemesis – Jason. The servant’s expression fell when he saw Nico and vague annoyance flickered in his eyes, “Nico,” he said stiffly.

“Move out of my way,” Nico growled, ignoring the pain in his nose and dropping his hand, determined not to show Jason his weakness. Clearly the blond had walked down the corridor from Perseus’ chambers, and that just infuriated Nico more.

“There you go, acting all high and mighty,” Jason exhaled, “We’re of the same status so you can stop addressing me like you’re my superior.”

“I don’t care for your ramblings, so _move,”_ Nico growled. He attempted to be intimidating but he had to crane his neck up to look at the blond and so he didn’t quite get that effect. 

Jason planted his legs firmly apart and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at Nico, “I’m not usually a trivial person but you’re aggravating. Apologise for behaving like a child for the past few weeks and I’ll let you through.”

Nico felt blood rush to his cheeks in anger and frustration. _How dare he?!_ He thought, fuming. Jason’s body blocked most of the corridor and Nico just wanted to shove him to the side, though he knew he was too weak to actually remove the blond physically. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, and his whole body shook with anger.

“ _Move,”_ he seethed. Jason rolled his eyes and stepped to the side. It should’ve been a victory for Nico but the boy knew that the other servant had only done it because he was being mature. It made Nico hate him more and he stormed past before he acted on his murderous urges.

**31 st Mayıs 1483 (3 weeks later)**

“I-I’m g-gonna... _nghh...,_ ” the stuttered words spilling from Percy’s swollen mouth were like music to Jason’s ears. The blond gritted his teeth to keep his own sounds at bay and thrust roughly into the Prince, who cried out, clawing at the covers of the bed, and spilled his semen all over his tanned, muscled stomach.

It took everything Jason had to pull out of the other man’s delicious warmth and spill onto the bed instead of inside him. He couldn’t mark the Prince like that. With soft eyes Jason looked down at the man, who was gasping for air, soft black hair tousled over his sweaty forehead. Jason fought the urge to brush it away. _He just wants me for sex, he just wants me for sex,_ he told himself, over and over as he sat up.

“You were rough today,” Percy muttered as the blond reached for his shirt. He hummed in reply and the Prince propped himself up on his hand, glistening body stretched out on the bed like a cat, unashamed, “Any particular reason?”

“None, your Majesty,” Jason said, standing to shrug the rest of his crumpled clothes on. There _was_ a reason why he had been so rough – he had been taking out his anger and frustration with that Nico runt, who refused to leave him alone and seemed to make it his life goal to torment Jason everywhere he went, on Percy’s body. He shouldn’t have felt bad about the bruises he had left on the man’s hips but he did; as emotionless as Jason tried to remain during their encounters, he couldn’t help but care for Percy. He tried not to label the feeling in his heart that he got every time the Prince smiled at him, because it would simply complicate an already complicated situation. He just knew he always wanted to be gentle with the Prince.

“Well if something’s bothering you, I can try and fix it,” Perseus offered, and it was almost sweet. Jason stepped away from the bed before he allowed his body to dictate his next actions.

“It’s nothing, really, your Majesty,” he replied curtly, turning to the bed and reaching up to wrap his turban around his head. Here was nothing the Prince would do about Nico anyway – they were childhood friends and although Jason’s arrival might’ve ruined their relationship it was clear that Percy had a soft spot for the boy and would never send him away. The Prince scooped his own come from his stomach with a vague look of distaste, “Will that be all, your Majesty?”

Percy searched Jason’s face for a moment, “It’s Nico, isn’t it?”

“What?” Jason flinched at how perceptive the Prince was. He sighed and sat up, sliding a silky robe over his naked body.

“He’s been avoiding me, and several servants had seen you two arguing in the hallways of the palace.”

Jason flushed with embarrassment, “It’s nothing, your Majesty.”

“Is he bothering you?” Percy asked softly, “I’d hate if he was causing trouble because he’s...,” he trailed off.

“In love with you?” Jason asked, without thinking. Percy dropped his eyes and tensed.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat, “That.”

“He isn’t a problem I can’t handle myself, your Majesty,” Jason said simply. Percy nodded but clearly the blond’s statement had made him uncomfortable.

“I’ll be leaving soon. To go into battle,” he said, changing the subject. Jason frowned.

“Battle?”

“The Christian Calvary had been causing some problems in the West,” Percy said with a wince, “I need to take my men to stop them.”

“Will it be safe?” Jason demanded, for a moment the feeling in his heart taking over his body as he jerked towards Percy, “Let me come, your Majesty, I’m a good fighter.”

“Eunuch’s cannot fight, Jason,” Percy said.

“I’m not a Eunuch,” Jason retaliated. Percy smiled gently.

“The people don’t know that,” he stood up and stepped to Jason and for a wild, wild moment the blond thought – _hoped –_ that the Prince would kiss him. It was something they had never done, because it hadn’t been necessary. All Jason was needed for was to make the Prince orgasm so he could take his semen to one of his wives and attempt to impregnate them in an unconventional way. Jason tasted bitter disappointment on his tongue when he didn’t get a kiss, but a simple hand on his shoulder. _Is this how Nico feels?_ He wondered, the pained, angry face of the boy flashing in his mind, “If...If something were to happen to me,” Percy said carefully, his blue eyes glimmering with sadness, “I need you to take care of Nico.”

Jason recoiled from him, “I don’t believe-,” he started, but Percy silenced him with a hand.

“No. I don’t trust the people outside this Harem. They would take advantage of his youth and prettiness. He’s not...,” Percy bit his lip and looked for the right words, “ _manly,_ like you or I. He doesn’t know how to fight. I need someone to protect him when I can’t. The mother of my new wife, Adalet, had long since disliked him and I can only hope she won’t try and get rid of him upon my absence,” seeing Percy’s worried expression made Jason’s heart soften, “So please, just look out for him while I’m gone. And if I were not to make it back-“

“You will,” Jason said quickly, and to end this morbid conversation he quickly added, “I’ll take care of him.”

A beautiful smile flowered on Percy’s face, and it made Jason’s heart ache with need to hold the man in his arms, “Thank you.”

**7 th Haziran 1482 (1 week later)**

**Thessalonica, Turkey.**

It had been less than a day since Percy’s forces had set up camp in the rocky terrains nearby the camp of the Christians, and already the Prince was injured. He had stupidly been peeling an apple, craving some sweet relief from the heat of the summer day and had taken asylum in his own tent. He had grown distracted by the golden finish on the crimson strips that made up his tent, wondering why they were necessary when this was war, and had accidently sliced his hunting knife through the palm of his hand instead of the apple.

The cut hurt and the blood pulled strong and crimson in Percy’s palm but the man insisted it was nothing. Still, his second in command, Grover, had left the tent in a hurry in search of a medic, making Perseus feel like a child and not a war general.

Those feelings changed when Grover sent in the medic. Percy had expected some old, stroppy physician with a bad breath and shaking hands but instead found himself face to face with someone taken right out of the plays about ancient Greece that Adalet enjoyed so much.

The man was young, around Perseus’ age, with a halo of golden curls and bright blue eyes that stood out against his tanned, freckled skin. He didn’t wear a turban and that somehow made him look more youthful than everyone else in the camp. He smiled cheerfully when he saw Percy, “Someone need a medic?”

“Yes, me,” Percy said, awestruck by the boy’s beauty as he stuck out his hand, “It’s nothing serious you must excuse my second in command’s exaggeration-“

“Don’t worry about it,” the medic laughed, completely not intimidated by Percy’s high status, “Honestly I’ve been expecting chopping off limbs and holes in stomach so an accidental cut is welcome.”

“Yes. Right,” Percy couldn’t quite find his words. The medic had a leather pouch at his hip and he reached into it, pulling out strips of bandages.

“Come to the bowl so I can wash the wound,” he instructed and confidently walked to the corner of the tent where an ornamented bowl was sitting on a wooden stool, filled with cool water from the river that slaves had brought up not too long ago. When Percy placed his hand over it the blood dripped down into the water.

“I can do this myself, really,” he said, because he hated being babied. The medic smiled at him briefly before dropping his gaze to the Prince’s injury.

“Let me do my job please,” he said quietly and gently cradled Percy’s hand in his own. His skin was calloused from work though his hands were graceful as if they belonged to a musician.

The medic carefully dipped Percy’s hand in the water. They watched the blood shift from Percy’s palm like red smoke before dispersing in the liquid, revealing the angry welt on the man’s skin.

“What’s your name?” Percy asked as the medic pulled his hand from the bowl. Immediately fresh blood welled up on the cut though the Prince barely felt the pain, too interested in the medic.

“William,” the blond replied, not looking up from Percy’s hand, which he had began to bandage. He had a faint accent and the fact that he wasn’t using any style to address Percy made him believe the boy was a foreigner, “You can call me Will, though.”

“Where are you from, Will?” Percy asked, eyes sliding over the medic’s freckles as he took care of his hand.

“England,” the boy replied with a faint smile, eyes flickering upwards briefly, “Your name is Perseus, isn’t it?”

The direct question would’ve been insolent coming from anyone else but from Will it simply sounded innocent and friendly. The Prince couldn’t help but smile, glad that nobody else was in the tent so he didn’t have to keep up a professional facade.

“Yes. But you may call me Percy.”

“Alright Percy,” Will’s smile grew as he tied a little knot on Percy’s bandage. The boy’s hand throbbed but the pain was bearable.

“Thank you for this,” he said.

“No problem,” Will put the bandages back into his pouch, “Hopefully that’ll be the only service you’ll need from me,” he teased. Percy froze as the sudden realisation of what the blond had offered flooded him. His stomach tightened with heat and Will must’ve noticed his expression change because suddenly he was blushing, “I-I meant that hopefully I won’t need to patch you up again because you’ll...be safe...during the battle...,” he trailed off, clearly embarrassed.

“Yes. Of course,” Percy laughed uncomfortably. Will bowed hurriedly.

“I’ll go now,” he said and escaped from Percy’s tent like a scared animal. The Prince exhaled and let his shoulders slump. He was vaguely aroused and not knowing why the faces of Nico and Jason flashed in his mind briefly. Percy’s heart was a jumble of confused emotions and with a battle coming up he had to concentrate.

***

As Will trailed through the deserted camp he was glad that he didn’t have to fight. As a child he showed little promise in the fighting department and couldn’t even use a bow and an arrow. He was taken from Russian aged ten and vaguely remembered the pale people and the bitter cold, and for the most part found a home in the Ottoman Empire. He would’ve been sent to a Harem and made a Eunuch seeing as he was useless but the head of his orphanage found that Will was incredibly skilful in the medical department and so since he was a child the blond found himself on battlefields.

Blood didn’t faze him, neither did guts or the moans and sobs of dying men. He was used to picking his way through corpses to drag the injured back to camps and didn’t flinch when he watched the older medics saw and hack at their limbs when they were considered useless. When he came of age he himself had to do the unpleasant job many-a-time, watching blood spurt as he sawed through bone and muscle, ignoring the screams of his patients.

But this time he was worried. He stayed behind in the Sultan’s camp with the whores and some of the younger medics, but his mind strayed to the battle. His earlier encounter with Perseus had made him feel...peculiar. Will hadn’t wanted somebody in quite a long time yet when he had touched Percy’s hand it was as if a hoard of butterflies had exploded in his stomach. Now the boy hovered around the leader’s tent, listening to the eerie silence of the camp and wandering if he would ever see the Prince again. Percy had seemed so strong and sure earlier and imagining him dead seemed unrealistic though Will had seen bigger men fall in battle.

The blond sighed and kicked a stone in anxiety, gazing at the deep crimson of Percy’s tent nearby. He bit his lip, wandering if he would ever get to speak to the Prince again. Realistically there were dozens of medics in the camp and it had been pure chance that Will had been closeby when Percy had injured himself...the likelihood of Will treating him again was unlikely and that was upsetting; the blond wanted to get to know Percy better.

A sudden explosion of noise on the other side of the camp made Will whirl around and squint. Half-naked women and wounded men hobbled from their tents, squinting at the setting sun and the noise of a returning army increased – shouting, the sound of armour clanking, screaming and moaning. Will’s heart twisted as he saw a crowd appear – would Percy be there? Or would he be just a body...

“Medic!” someone shouted, “Medic!”

Will snapped into action and rushed forward, pushing past the whores, “Here!” he called. The men at the head of the crowd were battered and bruised, splattered with blood but in an acceptable state.

The people behind them weren’t; as the group fanned out Will saw men carrying other men – missing arms and legs, bloodied heads, spears sticking out from ribs grotesquely, the feathered ends of arrows protruding from stomachs. And blood. So much blood.

“P-Please...,” a man in a dented helmet moaned as he was laid at Will’s feet, reaching for him with a dirty hand. There was chaos, screaming, noise. Will’s heart shut down and all his emotions were pushed to the side as his cold, collected medicinal side took over.

“What happened?!” he demanded, but the men that had brought the injured to his feet had disappeared. Dozens of medics ran around frantically, trying to save as many soldiers as possible.  Will’s own patient let out a pained groan. His face was caked with blood and mud but there were no wounds on his body, “I’m going to take your helmet off!” Will shouted over the ruckus.

He didn’t wait for a reply as he grasped the metal with both hands and yanked. The man let out a blood curdling scream as the dented helmet scraped his head but there was nothing Will could do; he had no time to be gentle. The man’s head was a mess; blood and bits of hair and a deep wound weeping blood. It was so deep that Will could see bone and brain.

He grabbed the closest soldier that was hurrying past, “This man’s going to die.”

The soldier nodded and the wounded man started screaming, claiming he was going to be alright and scrambling about him. It was a heartbreaking sight but Will knew only adrenaline kept the man alive and when it ran out he would die slowly. It was best to end his suffering now. He stood and wiped his hands on his pants as the soldier pierced the man’s forehead with his spear, killing him quickly.

The medic went to hurry through the camp, which had become one huge medical bay with wounded soldiers spilling from the medical tents, but someone grabbed his arm. When Will turned around he saw the same man that had found him in the morning – Percy had called him Grover.

“The Prince is asking for you,” the man said sombrely. Will blinked and then his heart twisted.

“Is he hurt?!” he demanded.  Grover didn’t reply, instead turning back to the commanding tent.

With his heart on his shoulder, Will followed him, careful not to trip over the bodies of dead and dying men that littered the ground, turning the grass red. Torches had been lit as night descended onto camp and the moans of pain created a blood-chilling atmosphere that Will was glad to get rid of by entering Percy’s tent, drowning out the world outside.

“Perseus I brought a medic!” Grover proclaimed upon entering. The tent was darker than that morning, and the ground was littered with pieces of Percy’s armour. The Prince himself was laying on the pile of furs and pillows that served him as a bed, shirtless. Will’s stomach twisted when he saw the deep, painful looking wound just above the man’s heart.

“I told you it’s fine-,” Percy started, wincing as he shifted into a sitting position. His words cut off when his eyes landed on Will, and his eyes looked almost black in this light, “Leave us,” the Prince commanded Grover, who did so without question, exiting the tent.

Will found himself alone with Percy and decided to focus on the Prince’s wound instead of his muscled body. He strode towards the bed and dropped to his knees at the man’s side, pulling bandages and a bottle of alcohol from his pouch.

“I told him I was fine,” Percy croaked and offered Will a smile though his face was pale and his forehead beaded with sweat.

“You’re not fine,” Will said firmly, “That wound could kill you if untreated.”

“Other men need you more,” Percy muttered, his words ever so slightly slurred with pain.

“This is going to hurt,” was all Will replied. He found himself angry at the Prince – how could the man think that he would be alright when he was clearly in dire need of help> Will pushed his emotions aside as he uncorked the bottle of alcohol and leaned over the Prince.

Percy hissed in pain when Will poured the alcohol over his weeping wound, and sunk further into the pillows, eyes squeezed shut.

“Why’d you do that?” he slurred.

“It will stop the wound from infecting,” Will said and added quietly under his breath, “Hopefully.”

He worked quickly; with a soft cloth he cleaned the blood from Percy’s skin and gently dabbed at the wound which still bled a lot. Will rubbed ointment around it, praying to Allah that it didn’t inflame. He proceeded to wrap bandages around it, looping them over Percy’s shoulder and over his rib, ensuring that everything was clean and precise. He would hate for any sloppiness to cause the Prince anymore pain. _Why do I care so much?_ Will thought distractedly.

He had been so focused on his work that he hadn’t noticed that Percy was staring at him, a soft smile on his face. It was only when the Prince reached up and cupped Will’s cheek in his hand that the blond looked away from what he was doing.

The touch made is heart jolt in his chest and he couldn’t help the wave of heat that washed over him when he saw the way Percy was looking at him. He swallowed down his nerves and watched the Prince anxiously, waiting for his next move, which came faster that anticipated.

Percy leaned forward and kissed Will sweetly. The blond swore his heart stopped beating for a moment and he exhaled shakily, causing Percy to pull away, “Thank you,” the Prince whispered.

Will opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, struggling for words. He didn’t even know this man, so why was his heart pounding so much? “I think you have a fever,” he muttered, pressing their foreheads together to check that since his hands were dirty with blood.

Percy must’ve taken that as an invitation because he pressed his lips against Will’s again, this time more firmly. Will didn’t know what to do – he had always thought kissing was reserved for the people you loved and made a point of never doing it with the camp girls that he slept with in a moment of weakness. He could see why kissing was so intimate; the feeling of Percy’s mouth against his was making him light-headed and unstable. Subconsciously he shifted closer and allowed one of Percy’s arms to loop around his waist, dragging him into the Prince’s lap.

Anyone could’ve walked in, Will knew that, knew how dangerous it was. But Percy’s kiss was intoxicating and the blond couldn’t help but slide his lips against the Prince’s, allowing their tongues to tangle together in an erotic dance. He forgot about the battle and the men dying outside the tent and lost himself completely in Percy, the way he had never lost himself in anyone before. The Prince clutched him close and kissed him fiercely and Will was sure if he pressed himself any closer to the man they would become one.

He realised what was happening when he felt a hardness against his backside. For reasons unknown to him, Will didn’t want to recoil in disgust. The realisation that Percy was aroused simply made the blond kiss him harder and unconsciously rock back against the hardness. The soft moan against his mouth made Will smile. He had never thought of doing _this_ with a man before, but now the thought filled him with excitement and anticipation. He placed his hand against Percy’s chest, forgetting about the wound.

Percy hissed in pain and flinched back and Will snatched his hand back, “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered apologetically.

“It’s alright,” Percy murmured. His eyes were as dark as his hair and he looked up at Will, who in this position had a few inches on him, tucking one of the blond’s curls behind his ear before taking Will’s hands and resting them on either side of his face. The medic tried to remove his hands.

“Don’t, they’re dirty-,” he started, but Percy held them firmly in place.

“I don’t care,” he whispered. This time it was Will that ducked down to initiate the next kiss and as he did that, Percy’s hands slipped beneath his kaftan and then through the crevices of his inner robe so he could touch skin. The blond shivered when he felt the Prince’s fingers skim his body and suddenly wanted nothing more than to shrug his clothes off, though he knew that would be hard to explain if someone were to walk in.

“I want to do it with you,” Will whispered feverishly, dragging his lips across Percy’s jaw.

The Prince clearly wanted the same because he urgently undid the knots on Will’s clothes, parting them in a way that allowed him to reach the blond’s intimate areas without completely stripping him down. Will was careful not to touch Percy’s wound as he allowed his hands to trail down the man’s body gently while the Prince roughly grabbed at his backside, burying his face in Will’s neck in order to kiss it. They were both panting, gripping at each other. Percy’s hand found Will’s cock and the blond cried out at the feeling of fingers that were not his own stroking his length. An even more alien feeling came when Percy hurriedly pulled Will’s discarded pouch close to him and pulled out the salve, coating his fingers with it.

“What a-are you going t-to do?” Will panted, rocking back against Percy’s hardness.

“Prepare you,” the Prince murmured, “But we don’ have much time.”

Not waiting for Will’s protest Percy lifted him up, wincing at the strain it cause to his wound, and set the blond back down on his hand. The medic didn’t understand what the Prince was doing until he felt the tip of his finger breach his hole. Blood rushed to Will’s face and he let out a surprised sound as he felt the digit wriggle its way deeper inside him. The feeling was alien and although not unpleasant it was accompanied by a type of burn.

“O-Oh...,” Will whispered, breathless. Percy watched his face eagerly, and Will just wanted to kiss and kiss and kiss him, though his body had other ideas as it pushed back against Percy’s hand, wanting to get the finger deeper inside him.

Loud shouts, louder than the ones drifting from the entire camp, sounded right outside the tent. Both the men stilled, looking at each other in panic, but instead of withdrawing his hand Percy roughly pushed a second digit inside Will, making him slap his own hand over his mouth in order to stifle a shocked moan. Percy thrust his fingers roughly into the medic with no warning, insistent and desperate, forcing Will’s entire body to slump forward against him as he let out moans and keens, unable to keep the sounds at bay. The shouts trailed off outside the tent but Percy’s movements didn’t slow down.

“P-Percy,” Will gasped, gripping at his shoulders, “O-Oh...a-ah... _P-Percy...”_

The man withdrew his fingers and kissed Will messily, with an almost animalistic urge. The blond submitted himself to the Prince, light-headed from pleasure. Percy dragged him upwards and freed his cock that Will couldn’t see from his position, before carefully beginning to slide the medic down onto it. It hurt, it burned, but it was bearable. A moment of tranquillity descended on the two men and their desperation came to a halt as Percy ensured that he didn’t hurt Will as he lowered him down onto his cock. They kissed and touched lovingly as the blond took more and more of the Prince inside of him, until Percy was fully sheathed in his passage. A few more moments of stillness and gentle caresses commenced.

Then Percy gripped Will’s hips and pulled him up only to plunge his member inside him roughly. The medic chocked on a moan, overwhelmed by the onslaught of things he was feeling and it took him a few moments before he got a hold of himself enough to take over. He bounced in Percy’s lap, establishing a frantic pace, helpless moans spilling from him as the Prince claimed him. The air grew hot, the sound of skin on skin muffled by the sounds of the battle aftermath outside. Will never wanted to leave the tent, wanted to stay in Percy’s lap forever.

It was all over faster that Will would’ve liked but they didn’t have time to ponder that. It had been a miracle that nobody had walked in on them. As the medic slumped against Percy he realised what had just happened – he had had sex not only with a stranger but the stranger also happened to be a man and the man happened to be the younger son of the Sultan.

“Will,” Percy muttered, and he sounded exhausted, “You need to leave.”

The words felt like a knife through Will’s heart. _What did you expect?_ The blond thought bitterly as he sluggishly pulled away from Percy. Of course he had to leave, he shouldn’t have been here in the first place! He had a job to do and instead he was too busy doing things that he shouldn’t have been doing...

But the words had still seemed harsh, no matter how softly they had been spoken. Will couldn’t help but feel defiled as he climbed off Percy’s lap, his stomach tight and heart aching. Why had he agreed to this? He felt like nothing but a cheap whore.

“I’m sorry,” Percy said as Will brought his clothes to an acceptable state with trembling hands, his back to the Prince, “I don’t want you to go but Grover will return soon-“

“I understand,” Will cut him off abruptly. He didn’t need to hear this. Of course _he_ would get himself into these foolish situations. He heard Percy struggling to sit up and calling after him as he hurriedly walked out of the tent, not looking back for fear of wanting to stay.

The smell of blood and smoke brought him to reality. Outside the tent it was still war; men were dying all around and blood soaked the ground.

“Where have you been?!” one of the older medics demanded from where he was bandaging a man up on the ground.

“W-With the Prince,” Will replied, trying to get a hold of his bearings. He felt cold and all he wanted was to return to Percy’s warm arms.

“Well get on with it! We have lives to save!” the medic barked and Will nodded, snapping into action. He had to push his emotions aside, the way he always did. But why was it so hard this time?

**11 th Haziran 1482 (4 days later)**

**Kostantiniyye, Turkey.**

Nico stood in the hallway, arms resting on the edge of the window as he looked out at the beautiful gardens. The air smelled heavily of perfumes that wafted out of the quarters of the women alongside giggling and gossip. Nico was in charge of ensuring the girls were ready for dinner but right now he was too busy regretting allowing Percy to go off to battle without a proper goodbye to bother about the _odalisques._

It had been two weeks since Percy had left without a word to Nico, and since then the boy had no idea what his fate had been. The man had disappeared in the ether, or rather he had simply not sent Nico any letters personally and the boy’s pride prevented him from writing himself.

“Oh Nico!” a dark skinned girl with beautiful curls ran out of the chambers of the _odalisque’s_ and hung herself off the boy’s arm, “Why are you so gloomy?”

“Be gone, Hazan. I’m not in the mood,” Nico grumbled. The girl was almost like his sister but he didn’t want to speak to her about his heart troubles. Because of how dear she was to Nico Percy had made her an _Ikbal –_ a Fortunate – giving her status above the other girls.

“The Prince will be fine,” Hazan told him, squeezing his arm, “So stop brooding like you’re waiting for your husband to return from war,” it was a jest but it hit too close to home. Nico shrugged Hazan off.

“I said I’m not in the mood,” he snapped, and regretted it when he saw the smile melt off the girl’s face. Before he could apologise she turned on her heel and stormed back into her chambers in a whirl of pink silk.

Nico sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. How much longer would this continue? There was a tension building inside him that threatened to erupt, and Nico was afraid what would happen then and who he would hurt. Would it be Hazan or Adalet or Pinar, or maybe Percy himself? Nico hoped it was Jason.

“Nico,” the soothing, warm voice made the boy turn around abruptly, and he found himself face to face with the Sultan Mother, Sadiye. She was dressed in a deep cobalt gown, her dark hair adorned with a veil of the same colour and a beautiful golden crown. Her face was open and full of love.

“ _Valide Sultan,”_ Nico bowed hurriedly. Sadiye laughed and two of her servants that stood behind her smiled.

“None of that now, Nico,” she took the boy’s arm and turned him down the hallway, “Walk with me. I have noticed that recently you seem upset.”

“It’s nothing,” Nico lied. He trusted Sadiye as he worked closely with her as she was the Valide Sultan and ensured the training of the young girls, while Nico, as the Chief Black Eunuch, was their guard and protector. However he also regarded Sadiye as a motherly figure in his life, but he couldn’t bear to confess to her the impure feelings he harboured for her son.

“Don’t lie to me, Nico,” Sadiye patted Nico’s arm as they descended a staircase and found themselves entering the gardens, the two serving girls trailing a safe distance behind them. The boy’s nose was assaulted by the smell of spring flowers, sweet and fragrant, and the sunshine and sound of birds singing seemed out of place next to his depressed mood. Sadiye led him deeper into the gardens, past the fountains, “Has Percy written to you?” she asked.

“No,” Nico admitted. Sadiye offered him a brief glance.

“Ah. Have you two had a fight then?”

“N-...,” Nico bit his lip and trailed off, “I...It’s complicated.”

“Mhmm, yes,” Sadiye’s tone indicated that she knew more than she let on, “Well, a letter was delivered to me from him upon the morn. The battle against the Christians had been successful but Percy had been wounded.”

“What?!” Nico demanded, slipping his arm from the woman’s and turning on her as worry erupted in his stomach, “Is he alright?! Is he alive?! How bad is it?! I must go to him-“

“Nico, calm down,” Sadiye smiled and gently grabbed the boy’s shoulders before he ran off, “Percy’s fine. He wrote that a wonderful medic had taken care of him and he’s as good as new and on his way back to the Harem as we speak,” she frowned, “he asked me to apologise to you from him though he did not recount for what.”

Nico dropped his gaze and his heart twisted. He had been so selfish – Percy had gotten hurt and obviously he felt guilty about rejecting Nico, though it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t desire the servant.

“Thank you,” the boy murmured. Sadiye studied his face.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked gently, “You know I am aware about the way my son’s heart steers him, and I do not judge him for it. He is my child and I only want him to be happy,” she squeezed Nico’s shoulders, “and you are like my son too, Nico, and it breaks my heart to see you unhappy.”

“I have...,” Nico paused, picking his words carefully, “Fallen in love with someone who will never feel the same.”

A sad, knowing smile appeared on Sadiye’s face, “Ah. Young love, and young heartbreak. There is nothing even a mother can do for that except give advice. If he does not love you then know that somebody else will, and they will be blessed to have you.”

“How do you know it’s a he?” Nico asked faintly, heart pounding. Sadiye simply smiled, slid her arm through Nico’s and led him back to the palace without another word.

The boy found his way back to the chambers of the girls and escorted the rowdy bunch downstairs for their meal. He attempted to reconcile with Hazan but she openly ignored his attempt at speaking to her and so the boy gave up. After his duty was done he found himself wandering the hallways, lost in thought and pondering what Sadiye had told him. Inadvertently his feet took him to the wing of the palace where he himself resided with other male servants and ‘eunuchs.’ When he looked up he saw none but Jason down the corridor, exiting his room, and for the first time in a while Nico’s automatic instinct wasn’t to approach the man and torment him with his words. In fact, Nico didn’t want to see or speak to anyone in that moment and so he hurriedly retreated into an alcove in the wall, hoping that Jason would continue on the other way and not bother him.

The sound of approaching footsteps made Nico press himself harder into the stone wall. The alcove was deep enough and yet if Jason was to look directly at it he would spot Nico immediately. The boy prayed he didn’t.

The blond walked past, hair concealed by a turban that Nico refused to wear, robes fluttering. The dark haired boy exhaled when the man left his vision and then tensed when Jason re-appeared, walking backwards again, his eyes snapping to Nico as if he had forgotten something. The boy’s mood soured.

“I thought I heard someone,” Jason grinned, “Comfortable?”

“Very,” Nico seethed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the blond. Then he notice something in Jason’s hand – a parchment. Without thinking the boy jerked forward and snatched it up.

“Hey!” Jason protested, trying to get it back, crowding into the alcove. Nico shoved his hand out, pressing it against the blond’s muscular chest as he hurriedly read over the familiar scrawl of Percy.

_Jason._

_There was a battle yesterday, and I was wounded. Thankfully I’m alive and well, and healing fast. We destroyed the Christians and despite losing many men we’re beginning our return to Fatih on the morrow. This letter might come as a surprise to you however I simply wanted to assure you of my well-being, if you happen to care. I look forward to seeing you again._

_The Imperial Prince,_

_Perseus_

Nico felt as if someone had punched him in the gut.

“Fuck, give it back,” Jason growled, snatching the letter from Nico’s hand. The boy let him, shoulders slumped. He felt numb as sadness washed over him and tears prickled at his eyes, “Oi,” Jason snapped, “What’s wrong with you?”

“He wrote to you,” Nico whispered, staring at the ground.

“Yes, so?” Jason demanded, and then paused. A tear tumbled down Nico’s cheek and he hurriedly brushed it away, “He...,” Jason’s voice was softer now, as if he were speaking to a child, “He didn’t write to you?”

“B-Be quiet,” Nico said shakily, sniffling and trying to keep his tears at bay. How could Percy not write to him, the friend he had known all his life, and yet send a letter to a servant he had been sleeping with for mere weeks? It made it clear to Nico how little he was worth to the Prince.

“Hey, I’m sure-,” Jason started gently, hand coming up to touch Nico. The boy couldn’t stand it.

“Shut up!” he snapped, shoving Jason away, “Go away, I don’t want t-to look at you!”

“Why do you hate me so much?” the blond demanded, “It’s not my fault Percy doesn’t want you!”

The words were so harsh and true that Nico just wanted to curl up on himself and forget everything around him. Jason was right – it wasn’t his fault Nico was unhappy. He slumped against the wall of the alcove and closed his eyes.

“Just go away,” he whispered.

Everything was calm and silent and Nico thought that Jason had really gone, when the sudden feeling of lips touching his made his eyes snap open. The blond had his hands on the wall either side of Nico’s head and he was _kissing him._

Nico inhaled a sharp gasp and Jason just kissed him harder, silencing any protest. The dark haired boy’s mind went blank, the confusion simply got too much. His hands slipped upwards and pressed against Jason’s shoulders. When the man didn’t react Nico pushed harder.

The blond pulled away ever so slightly, so his breath ghosted over Nico’s mouth, “Let me make you forget about him.”

“Careful,” Nico said dryly, ignoring the sudden desire creeping up his body, “or I might think you’ve fallen for me.”

“I haven’t,” Jason pulled away, voice colder, “but we both want the same thing; sex. Percy isn’t here and Allah knows how long until he returns, and I’m at my wits end. I want you, in a simply physical sense, so don’t flatter yourself by assuming I have feelings for you.”

His words should’ve been off-putting but the annoyance in his voice worked onto in making Nico see the blond in a different light. He was handsome, his physique similar to Percy’s. The dark haired boy had done this a hundred times, pretending he was entangled in Percy’s arm while a stranger had him from behind. Why should it be different this time? Jason’s obvious dislike of him might fuel his roughness and if the sex had a violent edge to it then maybe it would make Nico forget his dilemmas, if only for a moment.

The boy surged forward, throwing his arms around Jason’s shoulders and dragging him down for a passionate, smouldering kiss. The blond responded immediately, thrusting his tongue into Nico’s mouth. They kissed messily, hands gripping at each other almost painfully.

“Let’s retire to my bedroom,” Jason murmured, “It’s not safe here.”

Nico nodded curtly and re-arranged his clothes to create an appearance of innocence as he hurried behind Jason down the corridor. At this time this wing was deserted and the two men easily slipped behind the safety of closed doors. Jason’s chamber was much like Nico’s – it had doors leading to the shared bathing and praying rooms and itself was small in size, with a pile of pillows in the corner for a bed and little furnishing. The window let in the cheerful spring light but Nico didn’t want it penetrating the room so he roughly pulled the dark curtains over it.

Jason pressed him against the wall, kissed him again and hoisted him up as if Nico was a child or a rag doll. The boy must’ve admitted that he enjoyed it – the raw passion coming from the blond was intoxicating and something that Nico had never experienced before. Usually the men he was with were nervous, looking for a quick, shameful way to be-rid themselves of their desires. Jason’s wasn’t like that.

He lowered Nico down onto the pillows which filled the boy with vague discomfort – he though the connotations of doing it in a bedroom, and on the sleeping space at that, were too intimate for his liking. He still hated Jason, and that hate spurned his desire, and he didn’t want to create any imitation of lovemaking here. It was pure fucking.

Still, Nico didn’t have time to voice his discontent as Jason’s hand suddenly delved into his _salvar_ , grasping his half-hard member. Nico moaned, hoping the noise would muffle against Jason’s lips, but that was the exact moment the man decided to pull away and kiss down Nico’s neck, making his sound of pleasure echo through the room obnoxiously loudly. The simultaneous feeling of having Jason stroking him slowly, with purpose, and his wet mouth creating little marks in his skin was making Nico’s mind clouded. He pulled Jason’s turban from his head, revealing his messy blond tresses in which he buried his hands.

Nico’s eyes slid shut as his breathing grew more laboured and his mind danced towards his familiar, unachievable fantasy. Jason’s hands on his skin and his mouth on his neck turned to Percy’s. Instead of the blond servant pressing against him it was the dark haired Prince. It was easy to forget where he was in the darkness of the room, lost in pleasure.

Until Jason’s movements stilled and he pulled back, his free hand grasping Nico’s chin and forcing the boy to open his eyes in annoyance, “What?” he barked, though it came out breathless. Jason’s eyes were dark, his hair falling onto his forehead.

“You’re thinking about him,” he said.

“So what?” Nico snorted, “You’re probably thinking about him too. Just get on with it and fuck me.”

A vague look of anger passed over Jason’s face before he bent down to kiss Nico again. The kiss was slower and softer than the previous ones and made the dark haired servant feel out of his depth. The blond pulled his hand out of Nico’s trousers and just kissed him until the boy couldn’t breathe.

“Look at me,” Jason whispered, impossibly close. Nico found himself shaking, dizzy, his eyes turning up to look at the man as if he couldn’t do anything other than obey, “I’m the one doing this to you,” he murmured, “Not him.”

The image of Percy disappeared from Nico’s mind, just like that.

**26 th Haziran 1482 (2 weeks later)**

**Kostantiniyye, Turkey.**

As the Harem came into view on the hill overlooking the city Percy wondered what had changed while he was away. His horse, Blackjack, tossed its mane at the heat of the spring that would soon transform into the welting summer weather and Percy craved nothing more than a cool bath and a change of clothes after the harrowing journey.

And Will. He craved Will.

The man looked at his army of men, or what was left of them, and tried to spot the familiar golden hair of the medic. He hadn’t seen him since the night they had been intimate and it made Percy feel empty. More than anything then he had wanted to hold William in his arms until dawn, treasure him like the precious thing he was. Love at first sight had always seem a foolish idea to him and yet now he couldn’t help the sadness he felt when Will was missing.

The boy hadn’t spoken to him, had avoided him at all costs no matter how much Percy looked for him during the journey back. His wound ached but whenever his bandages were due to be changed a different medic would come each time, but never Will. Now, upon seeing his home, Percy realised that his time was running out – if he didn’t do something soon he would lose the blond angel forever. As they passed by a glimmering lake Percy saw his chance to find the medic.

“Grover,” he told his second in command, “Let’s stop here for a while so the horses can drink before we continue.”

The man didn’t question the order and repeated it to the other men. The ones on horses slipped off and led the animals to the water while other men collapsed on the edge, dousing themselves in the cool liquid. Percy handed the reins of Blackjack to Grover and moved into the crowd of fighters, eyes searching for Will.

By some miracle he managed to find him among the hundreds of soldiers resting on the green plains of Fatih. He was with the other medics, re-wrapping the bandages of some soldiers. His face was flushed from the heat and his blond curls fell into his eyes and Percy was again mesmerized the way he was the first time he saw him.

“William,” he said.

The medics all jerked to their feet, bowing hurriedly and Percy could’ve sworn Will’s blush intensified, “ _Sehzade_ ,” he said and the formality of his voice made the Prince sad.

“May I speak with you?”

“Of course, _Sehzade_.”

When Will followed him away from the main body of the army to a more secluded space by the horses he looked nervous. Percy wanted to put him at ease but he didn’t know how.

“Where are you from, Will?” the Prince asked as he petted Blackjack.

“Fatih, _Sehzade_.”

“Don’t call me that,” Percy winced, “You didn’t call me that before.” Will dropped his gaze and the dark haired boy’s heart twisted, “Are you ashamed of what happened between us?”

“No I-,” Will paused and exhaled, “Yes. Yes, I am. I should’ve never...”

“What will you do now?” Percy asked carefully, hoping to not betray his hope in his voice.

“Continue with you to the city and then return with the other common people. There are always medics needed in Kostantiniyye.”

“There are also physicians needed in the royal palaces and Harems,” Percy said gently. Will’s eyes snapped to him.

“What are you suggesting, Percy?”

“Come with me to my Harem,” Percy allowed his youth and heart to dictate his passionate words, “I want to provide for you. You’re too good of a medic to work in the slums of the city. I want you,” he paused, almost saying _by my side_ before he stopped himself, “I want you to be my court physician.”

“I can’t,” Will said immediately.

“Why not?” Percy’s heart clenched.

“I...I know what you want from me,” Will bit his lip, “and what happened between us...it can never happen again. It was a moment of weakness on both of our parts and...and although I harbour no ill feelings towards you I would prefer to stay away from sin.”

Percy looked at him helplessly, “I won’t touch you again, I promise.” Will just shook his head, “Please. I want only to compensate for how bad you feel now. Allow me to take you to my Harem; the elderly servants oft fall ill and I am awaiting a pregnancy announcement – I will need someone to look after my pregnant wives,” Will still looked unconvinced, “Besides, I don’t know how to dress my wound.”

“Your physician will know.”

“William,” Percy whispered. The blond puffed out his flushed cheeks and then exhaled.

“Fine. I’ll come with you, simply because you really seem to need me.”

Percy felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and a happiness appeared inside him, “Thank you.”

Will looked away, “But you can never touch me again,” he said quietly and Percy’s stomach dropped as the blond walked past him and returned to his medics.

*** 

Seeing Percy in one piece and smiling had been a relief to Jason, who hadn’t realised how anxious he had been about the man’s wellbeing until he saw him again. Still their reunion was surprisingly...cold. A pretty blond man Percy introduced as Will the physician stood at his side and the Prince seemed unable to take his eyes off him. By all means Jason should’ve been jealous; he had felt a deep connection and fondness for the Prince before he left to fight but now the feelings seemed to have lessened...

Jason hated to think that it was because of Nico.

The little runt still tormented him any chance he got but the contrast between his usual annoyed, angry face and words compared to the way he softly whispered Jason’s name and clung onto him when they had sex made the man weirdly invested in him. Nico was beginning to open up to him, slowly but surely, and although his confessions were interwoven with insults and criticisms, Jason felt he was beginning to understand the enigma that was the boy.

Percy paled in comparison. Percy would never love Jason, and although Jason wasn’t sure Nico could ever love him his heart was willing to fight for him even if his mind was still convinced that he disliked the boy.

As Jason laid in bed, too awake to sleep, he wondered how he could woo Nico and make the boy his. His ponderings were interrupted when his door burst open and none other but the furious Italian stormed in, shoving the door closed behind him.

“Good evening,” Jason didn’t even sit up.

“Did you see?!” Nico fumed, his beautiful face red with anger, “Did you see _him?!”_

“What, Percy?” Jason questioned.

“No! That man he was with!”

“Will the physician?” Jason arched an eyebrow.

“Yes!” Nico’s arms flailed and for a moment he looked younger than he was, like a child throwing a tantrum, “Who in _Jahannam_ does he think he is sticking to Percy like that?!”

“I didn’t notice anything bizarre between them,” Jason admitted. He was tired of Percy and he was aware that the man, despite the fact the blond had a soft spot for him, was the obstacle between Nico ever considering loving him.

“Of course you didn’t!” Nico spat.

“You’re dramatic,” Jason sat up and reached up, grabbing Nico’s wrist and pulling him down onto his lap.

“No, let go,” the angry boy squirmed, his back against Jason’s chest. The blond kept his arms firmly against his waist and held him close, preventing the boy’s escape, “Let go Jason! This is serious!”

“Maybe it’s just another of his lovers,” Jason murmured distractedly, nuzzling Nico’s neck. He had had him the previous night and yet it felt like he couldn’t get enough of the boy.

“What?!” Nico demanded, outraged, “How many does he need?! He has _you!”_

“Shhhh,” Jason grabbed the back of the boy’s head and angled his head back so he could slot their lips together. Nico tried to wriggle free for a moment more before eventually giving up and calming down in Jason’s lap, submitting himself to the man’s kiss.

“It’s just that they’re always blond,” Nico grumbled when Jason created a pathway of kisses down his neck, pushing his shirt aside.

“Not always,” he interjected.

“Yes they are,” Nico sighed, settling more against Jason, “You’re blond, the new man’s blond, even Adalet’s blonde.”

“He doesn’t want Adalet.”

“But he _likes_ blondes,” Nico said in exasperation.

“Well I like dark hair,” Jason said, braving that slight confession. Nico just sighed.

“Of course you do. Percy’s dark haired and he’s the dream.”

 _I meant you, idiot,_ Jason wanted to say but stopped himself. Instead he turned Nico in his lap so the boy was straddling him and kissed him some more. His lips moved to the boy’s forehead and he brushed his mouth over the frown lines on his forehead.

“You’re too gentle sometimes,” Nico whispered, “like a real lover. Like you care.”

“It’s not fun if only one of us feels good,” was all Jason replied though every moment that he passed in Nico’s company made him sure that he would’ve been happy with Nico’s pleasure alone.

“Can you fuck me?” Nico asked in a small voice, arm sliding around Jason’s neck. Embraced in that way it looked like they loved each other, and not hated.

“Mhmm,” Jason hummed, pulling Nico’s trousers down and then off.

They both exhaled shakily when Nico sunk down onto Jason’s lap, taking the blond’s cock inside himself. They had done it many times during Percy’s absence but each time felt like the first – heavenly.

Jason buried his face in Nico’s shoulder, gripping the boy’s pale hips as the Italian began to ride him slowly. The blond kissed his collarbone, his neck, his chin. They were quiet, the only noises that filled the small room the ones of skin slapping skin and their loud breaths. They couldn’t let their desire run wild, not here where everyone could be eavesdropping.

Jason almost forgot but then he quickly pulled away from Nico’s shoulder and angled the boy’s head down so they could face each other. The Italian was flushed with pleasure, swollen mouth parted.

“Look at me,” Jason whispered as he slowly thrust up in Nico’s tight heat. The dark haired boy bit his lip.

“I am,” he murmured, cupping Jason’s face in his hands and leaning down to kiss him.

It was as if they loved one another.

**31 st Haziran 1482 (5 days later)**

Living in the Harem was different than any other part of Will’s life; it was calmer than the battlefield, and much more peaceful than living down in the slums of Fatih. Percy had gifted Will a nice, small room with a real bed, which was less than normal servants got, something Percy justified with saying that Will was more important as he would undoubtedly save some lives in the Harem.

The blond became acquainted with the Harem physician, Chiron, who was kind if a little elderly. The man passed on his knowledge to Will and listening to him teach was what the boy spent doing for the first three days. He was in a bit of a shock at his sudden change of life and couldn’t grow accustomed to all the rules of the Harem. Particularly Will was only allowed in half the Harem as the east side of the building was where all of Percy’s concubines and wives lived, women he, as a man who was not a eunuch, was not allowed to look upon. That subjected Will to a certain type of isolation and for three days Percy didn’t come to see him so the only person the new physician could interact with was Charon. And then Percy asked Will to eat breakfast with him on the fourth day.

Just like that they became inseparable. Perseus, when not attending to his duties, insisted on accompanying Will everywhere. The blond tried to remain immune to his charm because he knew what Percy’s end goal was, but the man’s bubbly and kind personality made the physician like him too much for his own good. He enjoyed the Prince’s company, whether it was while walking through the gardens or at meal times. Percy remained true to his word – he didn’t try and touch Will in any way and it was as if they were...friends.

Except they couldn’t be friends, not after what had happened between them. The graphic dreams that plagued Will’s nights, reminding him about the feeling of the Prince’s fingers on his skin, were enough to enforce that idea. Under different circumstances, if they were two common boys then Will maybe would’ve allowed himself to fall for Percy. But in this instance he refused to become a whore, remembering how disgusting he had felt after the Prince had asked him to leave his tent after they had sex.

He hadn’t met any of Percy’s lovers, or his two wives, who lived their lives on the other side of the Harem, where Will wouldn’t be able to see them. He did see the older women though – the Valide Sultan, Percy’s own mother who bore resemblance to her son in her soft smile and kind eyes – and her hoard of servants as well as some women who had risen in status in Sultan Poseidon’s Harem over the years and were the Valide Sultan’s hand-maidens, married to grand viziers and such. Among the cohorts of male servants and eunuchs and all the females, one woman unsettled Will.

Athena must’ve been a beauty in her youth though years of bitterness had soured her face. Her dark hair was like the one of the Ottoman people but her cold grey eyes and pale complexion made it clear she was a foreigner. She also happened to be the mother of Percy’s first wife and for reasons unknown to Will she _hated_ him.

When Percy introduced Will to his own mother as the new physician the heated glare from Athena had not gone unnoticed by the blond, who wondered how he had offended her. Over the course of the following days Will felt eyes on him and whenever the group of ladies walked past Athena would look at him each time, without fail, her cold eyes burning with hatred. When Will finally asked Percy about it the boy told him to ignore it – according to him Athena hated everyone who even attempted to get close to Percy as she believed the Prince should only trust in her daughter, Adalet, and have a child with her so she may become the next Valide Sultan. It was clear she didn’t care about her daughters well-being, only her status.

Which was why Will was surprised when one of the servants came to him in the evening, as the blond was on his way to retire in his room after a dinner with Percy, and insisted that Athena wanted to speak with him.

The blond found her waiting for him in a dark corridor nearby the door leading to the east wing, which was unsettling, peculiar and indecent.

“My Lady,” Will bowed upon seeing her, wishing the servant who had delivered the message had come with him. In the faint light coming from the torches on the walls Athena looked like a ghoul, only her pale, floating face visible, eyes dark in anger.

“So you are William, the new physician,” Athena stated more than asked, eyes sliding over the boy’s body. Clearly she was unimpressed and the medic fought the urge to fidget.

“Yes, my Lady.

“Now tell me,” the woman’s eyes narrowed, “What does the Imperial Prince see in such a commoner?”

Will’s heart skipped a beat, “Pardon, my lady?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Athena seethed, “It may not be common knowledge in this Harem that the Prince is full of sin but _I_ know. I’m not a fool, I see how he looks at the men in this place, how he looks at _you.”_

“I-I don’t understand,” Will said faintly, wanting nothing more than to run.

“Yes you do,” Athena growled, “I don’t care if the Prince loves Adalet, I only want him to impregnate her so she may birth his son and secure a position in this place. Call me power hungry, I don’t care about the opinions of vermin.”

“You are mistaken, my Lady,” Will said hurriedly, “Percy and I-“

“Oh _Percy?”_ Athena laughed coldly, “I see, so you’re closer than I assumed.”

“Please-“

“No, silence,” Athena snapped and Will flinched. She was a tall woman and the blond was sure she could hurt him if she tried – she knew he would never fight back in fear of what would happen to him if he did, “I watched as that little Italian mooned over the Prince, patiently waited as every night the Greek newcomer came in and out of the Prince’s chambers, but they are eunuchs, they are not real men. But you are and I will not risk the Prince falling for you’re pretty face and forgetting the goal here.”

“There is nothing between me and the Prince,” Will lied.

“Oh but there is. I have no evidence but I will find some and then you will be ruined,” Athena sauntered over to Will, and cold radiated off her, “I suggest you leave this Harem, and go somewhere far, far away. Better yet – ensure that Perseus gets my daughter pregnant or things will end very, very badly for you.”

“Are you _threatening_ me?” Will asked in a moment of bravery. Athena smirked.

“I’ll make it look as if you died in your sleep,” she said softly.

“Athena,” the voice came from the darkness, like a bark, and a servant appeared. His clothes glimmered golden in the light of the candle he held, implying his higher status in the Harem. His face was shadowed, eyes dark. Athena glared and stepped away from Will.

“Chief Black Eunuch,” she said stiffly.

“Must I inform the Valide Sultan what you’re doing here?” the man – the Chief Eunuch – asked coolly, “or shall I remind you of your place? The Sultan Mother might hold you in high regard but, as you have clearly forgotten, you are nothing more than her servant and the mother of the Prince’s wife.”

“I understand,” Athena seethed, making it clear that this Chief Eunuch held more power in this Harem than she did.

“So I suggest you retire back to the east wing before I inform the Sultan about your inappropriate meeting with this man.”

Athena huffed in anger, spared Will one last glare and whirled on her hell, storming a short way into the darkness of the corridor. The blond heard the door slam and only then did he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. When he looked at the Chief Eunuch the man was already hurrying away.

“Wait!” Will called and ran after him, “Wait, I wanted to thank-“

“No need,” the man was walking away briskly, his back to Will, “Continue on with your business.”

“No, wait-,” Will grabbed the man’s wrist on instinct, the free one that wasn’t holding the candle, and pulled him around. He was shocked when he found himself face to face with a boy younger than him. In the candlelight his features were clear – youthful, angry, dark. His hair, not hidden by a turban, fell onto his forehead in fluffy tresses. Moreover he was much smaller and slimmer than Will, scarcely more than a child, “I...,” the blond forgot how to speak.

The Chief Eunuch snatched his wrist free, “Do not presume to touch me again,” he growled.

“I-I...apologies,” Will stuttered, “I simply wanted to thank you. For saving me from that woman.”

“Yes, well, Athena doesn’t know her boundaries,” the Eunuch said dismissively, and Will got the impression that he didn’t like him very much, though the medic had no idea why – this was the first time he had met the younger boy and he would’ve remembered someone so...pretty.

“Is there any way I could express my thanks?” Will asked, suddenly wanting a friend in this complicated chaos. He was rewarded with a cool glare.

“No need,” the Eunuch said briskly, “I was only walking past.”

“What’s your name?” Will blurted. The boy gaped at him.

“ _Excuse me?”_

“Your name,” Will felt himself blush, “My name is William. Will.”

“My name is Chief Black Eunuch. Goodnight,” the boy snapped and turned around. His candle flickered and there he was gone, disappearing over the bend of the dark corridor, leaving Will as confused and alone as ever

**2 nd Temmuz 1482 (2 days later)**

_Who does this arse think he is?_ Nico thought gloomily as he stood in front of Will in the blond’s chambers, arms outstretched on either side of him like some fool. The medic seemed perfectly unaware of the hate radiating off Nico as he hummed, circling the Italian with a piece of parchment and a quill.

“Thank you for doing this again,” he said cheerfully.

“Not like I had much choice,” Nico grumbled. He had literally been abducted by this man while he had peacefully walking down the corridor and now couldn’t think of a way out. Will seemed to think they were...friends, “What’s this again?”

“Anatomy,” Will replied, like it explained everything, and came to stand in front of Nico, a look of concentration on his face as he scribbled.

“What in _Jahannam_ is that?” Nico made a face.

Will turned his parchment around, showing an annotated outline of Nico’s body, arms outstretched, “It’s knowing the different parts of the body. It’s important when dealing with illnesses and injuries. You wouldn’t want to be setting a broken bone when it’s merely a fracture,” he laughed as if he had said a joke and quickly cut off when he saw Nico’s unimpressed look. It made the Italian subconsciously yearn for Jason’s calmness. The man was like a cool pool of water, perfect for this hot day. Will was...like an overexcited animal. _Wait, did I just call Jason perfect?..._ , “anyway, so the point is,” Will continued, a little less eager now, “that I just need to find all the joints of the body. Chiron told me it’s incredibly important but I find it hard, so do you mind?” he gestured vaguely towards Nico’s body and the boy shrugged, not quite sure what Will was going to do.

“Do this quickly, I have things to do.”

Will nodded and stepped forward, placing his hands on Nico’s shoulders. The boy fought the urge to hiss at him like a snake and recoil. He could’ve easily declined Will at this point – not only was he clearly a favourite of the man he loved, but he was also lower in status in this Harem than he was. But to an extent Nico was intrigued by this confusing man and so he allowed his fingers to gently rub over his shoulders.

“Can you move your arm back, please?” Will asked and the air of cheerfulness dispersed around him. The serious look on his face made him seem like a real physician. Nico swallowed and followed the instruction. Will grinned brightly, returning to his happy-go-lucky self, “I knew they were in here!” he let go of Nico’s shoulders and quickly wrote something on his diagram. Nico wasn’t even going to ask what joints were.

“Will this take long?” he demanded, trying to retain authority.

“Err...no, just a few moments more,” Will said, though he sounded unsure. He resumed his place in front of Nico and now grabbed one of his arms. He slid his fingers down Nico’s sleeve, face tight in concentration. The dark haired boy was beginning to feel uncomfortable with how physically close the medic was, “Can you move your arm?” Nico did so. Will bit his lip and moved his fingers lower, “Again.”

“A please would be nice,” Nico grumbled.

“Sorry. Please,” Will said sheepishly. Nico rolled his eyes but really he wasn’t annoyed at Will – he was annoyed at himself for finding out that he didn’t hate Will as much as he thought. He was, to an extent, endearing, “Found it,” a faint smile appeared on the blond’s face as his fingers pressed into the curve of Nico’s arm. He added an annotation to his anatomy drawing. When he then took Nico’s hand the boy almost snatched it back. Will gripped at his palm and his wrist and the Italian gritted his teeth. He could feel the medic’s warm breath on his forehead and it was making his skin crawl...and blood travel dangerously south. This time wordlessly Will added another scrawl to his diagram.

Then he dropped to his knees and unceremoniously grabbed Nico’s thigh. The boy jerked, “What are you doing?!” he demanded, face flushing in embarrassment as Will poked at his hip and the inside of his thigh like it was a normal ordeal. From that angle he looked almost like Jason...though not really, not with his curls and his longer eyelashes and softer jaw and sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks.

“There’s one somewhere here,” Will muttered distractedly. Nico tried to think of bad and ugly things but having a man – a very good looking man at that – near his most intimate areas made it impossible not to get aroused. The boy felt his member begin to fill up and he could only hope-

Will cleared his throat and Nico looked down hurriedly, blushing. The blond was pointedly looking at the bulge in Nico’s crotch, “I thought you were a eunuch.”

“Surprise,” Nico said sarcastically, stepping back and re-arranging his robes in an attempt to hide his excitement.

“Is everyone in this place a nymphomaniac?” Will asked, exasperated, rising from the ground.

“I’m sorry I get aroused if someone gropes me,” Nico snapped. Will blinked at him, then rubbed the back of his head nervously.

“Right. Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” Nico growled, “Find yourself someone else for your weird experiments. I’m sure Percy is more than willing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Nico didn’t want to show his jealousy, especially not to Will, “It means nothing. We’re done here.”

The medic’s shoulders slumped, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Nico snapped, though he clearly was. Will exhaled.

“I only...I thought we could be friends. It gets lonely in this place,” he admitted quietly.

Nico’s heart twisted. A part of him had thought Will was simply attempting to get to know him to understand his weaknesses, so he could eliminate him and have Percy all to himself. His true intentions were much more pure and innocent, and Nico couldn’t help but feel bad.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t...I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome.”

Will smiled, “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable with all this,” he gestured to his anatomy drawing. Nico couldn’t help but smile. Will was sweet, and maybe it was alright to think that. Maybe it was time to move on from Percy – Nico would never have him anyway. But he wanted the Prince to be happy and if Will made him that way then Nico could do nothing but step back.

“Why don’t you come eat with me?” Nico asked, “It’s almost time for supper.”

Will was almost over-eager in accepting the offer, following Nico out of his quarters and resembling an excited puppy more than ever. He was talking, loudly and cheerfully, but Nico wasn’t really listening as he weaved his way through the well-known corridors of the palace he grew up in. He had recently taken to eating with Jason and he hoped the man wouldn’t mind Will’s presence despite the fact he didn’t like the medic.

They reached the stairs and Nico began to climb upwards, Will’s chatter indicating the blond was following close behind. The Italian completely drowned him out when none other than Athena appeared at the top of the wide staircase. She was dressed in red and Sadiye was nowhere to be seen – instead the woman was with two other servants who stood behind her.

“Chief Black Eunuch,” they inclined their heads, and Will abruptly stopped talking. Nico paused at the step below Athena, allowing the medic to continue upwards, giving Athena a nervous look. The woman didn’t even look at him, her gaze fixated on Nico. The coldness of her eyes unsettled the boy; Athena should’ve been in the east wing with the other women, eating, so why was she here...?

“Athena,” Nico replied calmly.

“Nico!” Jason’s familiar voice sounded behind him. The boy turned on the stairs, and saw his almost-friend making his way upwards, a smile on his face. Nico was about to reply to him when Athena suddenly let out a gasp and flew against Nico.

The boy stumbled and the woman shoved her leg painfully against his, quite obviously aiming to get him to lose balance in which she succeeded. Nico sucked in a startled breath and reached out but Athena’s hand that dug into his waist made him wobble dangerously on the step. The staircase was long. Nico’s stomach flipped and he felt his heart in his throat as he felt the empty air behind him. The next discreet but rough push that came from the women couldn’t have been an accident, and Nico went tumbling backwards.

He wasn’t falling for very long and barely had time to allow panic to hit him like a wave of cold water before a strong arm wrapped around his waist, catching him. Nico flailed, regain his balance somehow, and gripped at the arm. Jason had him tightly pressed against his own chest, protectively in a way that was explicitly obvious.

“What in _Jahannam_ was that?!” the blond demanded as Athena’s women rallied about her.

“Watch your mouth slave!” the woman spat, and although she was swooning dramatically her eyes were cold and calculating. It was clear that this had been no accident. Will, standing at the top of the stairs, looked shocked. Nico pushed Jason away, smoothing down his clothes.

“What was that, Athena?” he seethed, and the woman had to reply to him as he was of a higher status.

“Apologies, Chief Eunuch,” she gritted out, “I felt faint and stumbled. An accident.”

“I’m sure,” Nico said dryly, though he knew that Athena had tried to kill him. A peculiar thought that Nico’s mind accepted immediately as if it were common knowledge. He was in love with the Prince and the Prince’s wife’s mother was trying to kill him.

“Excuse me,” Athena turned in a swirl of robes and disappeared with her two women down the corridor. Will gaped at Nico, still frozen in space. The dark haired boy didn’t have time to properly take in his expression because Jason grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around.

“Are you alright?!” he demanded, his handsome features marred with worry. They were alone with Will and yet Nico still glanced around nervously, batting at Jason’s arms.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, stepping away, a blush appearing on his face from how intense Jason’s gaze was. Nico knew that the blond didn’t hate him anymore but the fact that he actually _worried_ for him made his heart pound, “She’s a crazy, jealous bitch, that’s all.”

“We need to tell Perseus-,” Jason started.

“No,” Nico replied immediately. The sound of footsteps alerted him to the fact that Will had descended to meet them.

“Is everything alright?”

Jason’s face soured, “What is _he_ doing here?”

Nico glanced at Will, who blinked in surprise, “Sorry...do we know one another?”

“No,” Jason said, eyes narrowed. He reached out and grasped Nico’s arm, tugging him closer to his body and away from Will, “Thankfully.”

Will looked at the ceiling, “Why does everyone in this place hate me?” he whispered, almost to himself.

“Jason,” Nico shrugged the blond’s hand off his arm, “this is Will. The new Physician.”

“What, are you two friends now?” Jason demanded. Nico opened his mouth to reply but Will was faster.

“Yes.”

The tension was palpable in the air but before any real confrontation could happen between Will and Jason, the Prince himself appeared, hurrying out of one of the side doors at the bottom of the stairs. Nico’s heart twisted and he suddenly felt pale and unstable when he saw Percy – they hadn’t been in the same room for weeks.

“Ah,” the Prince smiled, and that smile faltered when his eyes slid over Nico, “There you are,” his blues turned to Will, “I was wondering if you’d join me for supper, Will,” the invitation, so blatant and cheerful, was like a dagger to Nico’s heart, “Naturally you two are welcome to join us, Nico and Jason.”

“No thankyou, my Prince,” Jason replied curtly. Nico felt nauseous and he didn’t say anything, turning away, feeling like he had forgotten how to form words.

“I...,” Will glanced at Nico anxiously.

“Go,” the boy whispered, unable to look at either Will _or_ Percy in that moment. The medic nodded, and he seemed sad as he slipped down the stairs and joined Percy. When they both disappeared, their cheerful voices dying away, Nico let the tears brimming in his eyes fall.

“You still love him,” Jason murmured, and he too seemed sad. Nico squeezed his eyes shut.

“I need you to fuck me,” he whispered, “right now.”

Jason took his hand but Nico snatched it back, wiping away at his wet cheeks. He walked back down the stairs and down the corridor that led to his chambers, past Will’s door that led to the room they had been in only moments ago. The sunset painted amber patterns on the tapestries through the windows and the warm summer breeze was turning cold as the night descended. Everybody was at supper and nobody noticed the two men slip into a bedroom together.

**9 th Temmuz 1482 (A week later)**

Percy felt so, so bad for what he was doing but he didn’t know how else to go about it. The Prince’s issues just kept building up. It had been over three months since Nico had stopped speaking to him completely and Percy found himself missing the Italian immensely. They used to be best friends and with Adalet spending her days with Pinar the Prince felt lonely. He saw the boy in the gardens or around the Harem, peculiarly accompanied by none other than Jason, but he never spoke to Percy. Jason was the second problem – ever since Percy had returned with Will from war he only asked the blond to sleep with him twice and both times Jason seemed distracted and tense, not looking at Percy, his usually slow love making rough and uncoordinated. Percy didn’t know why he was like that and he was starting to suspect that Jason had fallen in love with someone, which made Percy sad. The Prince hadn’t expected for that to happen; he hadn’t expected to feel attached to Jason and despite the professionalism of their relationship (if you could call it that) Percy had a soft spot for the servant. The final issue was Will. Or maybe not Will himself. The boy was sweet and perfect and he made Percy’s heart ache which was precisely the problem. Percy couldn’t have Will and he had promised not to touch the boy, but it became harder and harder each day they spent together.

Which was why tonight, when Percy was particularly sexually frustrated, he called for Jason. And he felt horrible for it. It was clear the blond was no longer interested in residing in Percy’s bed but the Prince didn’t want to turn to anyone else. He was used to Jason’s calloused hands and his cock and the way his hair gleamed in the candlelight. The thought of having sex with someone else – unless it was Will – scared Percy.

He had prepared himself for Jason and anxiously sat on his bed, awaiting the servant’s arrival. He was excited and he promised himself that tonight he would figure out why Jason had suddenly changed when he was around him. If he was really in love with someone else then Percy would have to accept that. He realised it would be hard though when the man came walking in through the open door, sliding it shut behind him.

“ _Sehzade_ ,” he bowed stiffly, his turban hiding his hair. Percy swallowed.

“Hello, Jason,” he said, trying to seem normal even though his heart was pounding. Even though he was doing this because he couldn’t have Will, in that moment he forgot about the medic completely.  The two stared at each other and the tension between them was palpable, “Are you going to...,” Percy gestured at the bed awkwardly.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Jason replied. Percy’s heart plummeted.

“Do what?”

“Continue having these sexual relations with you,” Jason specified and hearing it said out loud made Percy red with embarrassment. He looked away, unable to face Jason.

“And...and why is that?”

“I’m not your whore.”

Jason’s reply surprised Percy and the Prince quickly looked at him in shock, “Jason I...,” he tried to collect himself, “you’re not a whore!”

“It’s beginning to feel like it,” the passion that sparked in Jason’s eyes made Percy anxious, “I see the way you look at that physician and it’s clear you two have been intimate. I don’t know if he’s celibate or what, but he’s obviously not giving you what you want-“

“Jason-,” Percy stood up.

“...and I’m not going to be here like your little fucktoy, waiting around until you get aroused so I can fuck you and be cast aside-“

“ _Jason-“_

“I know you’re a Prince and you can order me to do anything, but if you command me to sleep with you again I want you to know that I’m unwilling and that I don’t want to touch you-“

“Enough,” Percy barked, his power coming through in his voice and finally making Jason fall silent, “I understand. You may go.”

The blond looked surprised for a moment, as if he hadn’t expected it to be that easy, and then bowed hurriedly and turned on his heel, making for the door again. He paused suddenly and looked at Percy over his shoulder. His eyes harboured none of the fondness he once had for the boy, “Don’t try and use Nico either. His heart won’t take it.” And then he walked out.

The moment the door closed Percy shakily slumped against the bedpost, hugging himself. He had never been so hurt before, not even when Will had demanded that he never touched him again. Percy understood the medic – it was his morals. But Jason...Jason didn’t care about sleeping with others, and yet he had made it out that Percy disgusted him, that he had never truly wanted to sleep with him. Percy was terrified when he felt tears well up in his eyes. When had he gotten so attached to the blond? He had only been meant to be a diversion and now...the boy clutched at his chest, trying to stop the ache in his heart.

A knock sounded on the door, quiet and hesitant. Percy squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to face anyone in that moment. He hoped not answering would make whoever was outside go away but that wasn’t the case and Adalet let herself in anyway. She was in her nightclothes, a shawl over her shoulders and had unashamedly ventured from her quarters to Percy’s room.

“Addie,” Percy straightened up. The girl looked pale, only her cheeks flushed, “What’s wrong?”

“I...I...nothing,” the girl cleared her throat and placed the candle she had come in with on the bedside table, “I only wanted to see you,” she smiled, clearly lying as it was too late in the night for casual visits, “How are you?”

“Alright,” Percy forced a smile, “Sorry I was unable to bring you anything today.”

“You won’t have to bring it anymore,” Adalet took her husband’s hands and took a deep breath, “I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Percy’s heart stuttered. Adalet grinned.

“I’m pregnant. Chiron had told me just a little earlier. I had been vomiting in the mornings and had gained weight. He said he felt the baby kick and that I’m already two months along.”

Percy pulled his friend into his arms, squeezing her tightly. A baby – if it was a boy – would not only appease his father and everyone in the Harem as he could become Percy’s heir, but it would also ensure that Percy wouldn’t have to send Adalet his seed in order to try and impregnate her in a way that didn’t force them to have sex. Pinar and Adalet could finally have some peace.

“I’m so happy,” Percy whispered, holding Adalet close. She laughed and for a moment Percy forgot his troubles.

He laid down in his bed and Adalet laid next to him, the sheets thrown over them. They held hands and smiled at each other the same way they had done as children. Percy felt as light as a feather when he fell asleep.

**11 th Ağustos 1482 (A month later)**

“I don’t see why _you_ have to go with him,” Jason continued his rant as Nico got dressed. The blond was still laid out in the Italian’s bed, naked, propped up on his arm. Nico ignored his complaining as he tried to make his hair look as if he hadn’t just had sex, which he did, “Why can’t that William boy go with him instead?!”

“I told you,” Nico sighed, “Will has to tend to Adalet’s pregnancy. It’s incredibly hard, especially with Athena watching over him like a hawk.”

“You’ve been talking to him.”

“Yes, we’re _friends,”_ Nico turned to the bed and sighed, “Do I look presentable?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed and he stood up from the bed, standing in front of Nico with his arms crossed over his muscular chest. He didn’t normally act this childish and Nico was beginning to think that maybe Jason was jealous. The thought made him a little happy.

“You _want_ to go, don’t you?” the blond demanded, tone full of accusation. Nico rolled his eyes.

“Stop being ridiculous.”

“So you’re telling me you’re not excited to go on a two month trip to Zonguldak with Percy, all by yourselves?!”

“We won’t be all by ourselves. There’ll be servants,” Nico said, ignoring the part about being excited about going because...well, he was. When Sadiye had informed him several days prior that Percy was going to visit his cousin and that he wanted to take Nico with him the boy was ecstatic. Though now he felt a little bad since Jason was so upset.

“You’re going to sleep with him, aren’t you?” Jason asked. Nico glared at him.

“Jason. I’m not your wife, and you’re starting to sound like you’re jealous.”

A blush coloured the blond’s cheeks, “I’m not!”

“Good, I was starting to think that maybe you’d have fallen in love with me or something equally foolish,” Nico said coldly because Jason’s words and facial expression was making him start to want to remain here with the blond.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t,” Jason replied briskly, returning to the bed as if it were his, “have a nice trip,” was all he said and Nico walked out of the room. His bags were already packed and honestly he was looking forward to being away from the Harem for some time, and he _did_ want to see the ocean. Maybe this time away would help Nico understand his feelings for Jason. The only problem was Percy. Every time Nico thought he was close to forgetting the man he had loved for so long the Prince found a way to sneak back into his life.

Nico passed numerous eunuch servants who hurriedly muttered their respect as he descended the stairs. Percy was standing to the side of the open door, muttering something to his mother. Nico approached and stood a small way off, undetected, and managed to hear the last part of the conversation.

“...But why _him_ mother?” Percy hissed, “we haven’t spoken in months. He _hates_ me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Sadiye replied calmly, “and you two need some privacy to deal with the issues in your friendship. A nice trip will be perfect for you to put aside this foolish misunderstanding.”

“But _mother-“_

“Oh, look who’s here,” Sadiye looked up at Nico and the boy flinched. It had seemed she had known that he was eavesdropping the whole time. He felt himself blushing but he wasn’t the only one – when Percy turned around his face was equally red.

“N-Nico,” he spluttered.

“Percy,” it was the first thing he had said to the Prince in over three months and even the one word lay heavy on his tongue. He could tell this wouldn’t end well.

**13 th Ağustos 1482 (2 days later)**

Will trailed his hand over the hedge that made up the maze in the garden, bored out of his mind. It was early in the morning, the sun had just dawned over the world and dew still sparkled on the grass. It was too early for Will to go to check up on Adalet’s pregnancy, or Sadiye’s bad back, and it was a moment the blond had just for himself.

He wallowed in his loneliness. In the space of a few hours his only two friends in this entire place had disappeared and now Will was alone with silent women and gossiping men. Nobody wanted to speak to him so the medic found himself spending a lot of time in the garden the past two days, alone with his thoughts. He knew the maze off by heart so he walked through it without much thought, focusing on how much he missed Percy and Nico more than he had thought he would and despite the fact that Percy was gone, he still appeared in Will’s explicit dreams. What was even more worrying was that Nico had began to make appearance in his dreams as well, and sometimes – Will shivered to think of it – both the men appeared together. It was just impossible for Will to deny his attraction to the two dark haired boys – Percy was all charm and kindness and Nico was sarcasm and unsure smiles that lit up the room.

“Hey!” the shout surprised Will and made him stop in his tracks. His heart did a peculiar thing in his chest, as if he missed a step on a staircase and anxiously turned around, wondering if he was going to have to fight someone and if anyone would find his body in this maze.

The blond servant that always hovered around Nico and had saved him from falling when Athena had tried to throw the boy off the stairs, had appeared in front of Will, though lacking the turban he usually wore. Anxiously the medic glanced around for a way out, but there didn’t seem to be one. The medic was virtually trapped, and the blond looked...angry.

“J-Jason, right?” Will asked, smiling nervously to appear harmless.

“I tried to find you around the Harem but you always seem to be busy,” Jason said, and although his voice was cold he didn’t sound threatening, “I saw that you come in here each morning.”

“So you followed me?” Will asked. Jason actually managed to look sheepish for a second, before quickly returning to his earlier expression. Crossing his arms over his chest to seem more intimidating.

“Are you fucking Nico?” he demanded, completely catching Will off-guard.

“Huh?” Will asked.

“You heard me,” Jason’s eyes narrowed.

“No, I’m not sleeping with Nico,” the medic interjected, “Are you?”

“Yes,” Jason replied. Will’s stomach dropped.

“O-Oh,” he said, shakier than intended. He felt an uncomfortable, ghostly itch under his skin and too late he realised it was jealousy. Jason looked around awkwardly, more relaxed now that Will had confirmed that they weren’t sleeping with the same person.

“Are you sleeping with Percy?” Jason asked, as an after-though.

“No,” Will averted his gaze, but he felt bad for lying so he quickly added, “I mean we did do it _once,_ but never again since then...”

“Then why does he keep you around?” Jason asked, and winced, “Sorry, that sounded harsh.”

“We’re...uh, we’re friends. I suppose,” Will tucked a curl behind his ear, “Um...are you sleeping with Percy?”

Jason exhaled, “Not anymore,” he extended his hand, “Look, we’ve gotten off to a bad start. I’m Jason.”

The medic smiled, “Will,” he shook the other blond’s hand, “So why did you hate me?”

“I thought you were sleeping with the boy I’m in love with,” Jason shrugged. Will blinked and tried not to let those words to affect him – he didn’t love Nico, and clearly his heart already belonged to Jason.

“You’re very open about that,” Will said.

“Not to him,” Jason smiled sadly, “Do you want to walk back to the Harem with me?”

“Yes, why not,” Will smiled.

**18 th Ağustos 1482 (5 days later)**

**Zonguldak, Turkey.**

The sea breeze felt amazing in Percy’s hair and he closed his eyes, allowing it to caress his face. He smiled, the salty air a welcome smell after the heavily incensed Harem. After a week of being cramped in a carriage – thankfully separated from Nico – Percy was happy to finally be out in the open.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Firat, his cousin asked, broad face smiling. He was a large, muscled man but his heart was truly soft and Percy was glad to spend time with him.

“Yes,” he agreed, “I could stay here forever.”

“I don’t think your _Kadins_ would appreciate that,” Firat smiled, “so, Nico’s grown up nicely.”

“Yes, quite,” Percy said vaguely, “I wish I could go swimming,” he said, stretching his arms over his head, wanting to avoid the topic of Nico.

“We can go tomorrow,” Firat suggested, “It’s too late to go now. The sun’s almost setting.”

“I don’t mind,” a mischievous grin appeared on Percy’s face. The sweltering heat of the summer day was still tangible in the air and the water lapping at the sandy beach below looked welcoming. Firat shook his head,

“Well, make it quick. Supper’s in an hour,” he turned and walked towards the large, marble mansion standing, facing the sea. Percy grinned and climbed his way down the cliff he and his cousin had stood on, breaking out into a run when he reached the bottom. As he sprinted for the beautiful blue water he began pulling his clothes off, letting the garments be snatched by the wind and deposited on the sun that Percy kicked up as he ran. He was unable to keep a smile off his face; if he had the chance to live in the ocean, he would. He had been obsessed with water all his life and yet near the Harem there were only lakes and rivers and no real seas.

So when the Prince reached the water’s edge he was ecstatic. His bare feet slammed into the waves as they washed over his legs, cold and rough, and Percy exclaimed in joy. He was only in his undergarments as he threw himself into the water, diving below. The water closed around him like an old friend’s arms, and Percy pushed further out, not caring about the saltiness pressing at his lips, or how cold he would be. When he opened his eyes everything was dark and blurry but he could still see where the amber light of the setting sun broke through the waves, and it was absolutely mesmerizing.

When Percy broke through the water, gasping for air, the sun had begun to dip past the horizon. The Prince couldn’t help but wonder where it was going. He floated in the water, allowing his face to dry in the last rays of sunshine. It was beginning to grow cold, and so he turned back towards land and started swimming back. As he got closer he noticed a lone figure standing on the beach.

“Firat asked me to ensure you return to the mansion,” Nico didn’t look pleased at being here as Percy climbed out of the water. The boy looked less tense and professional than he usually did in the Harem, his clothes more loose and summery. In his arms he held a towel that he threw at Percy when he climbed out of the ocean.

“Thank you,” the Prince replied, throwing the towel over his shoulders to chase away the cold. He opened his mouth to say more but Nico turned around and started walking fast towards Firat’s mansion, “Hey! Wait!” Percy called and jogged after his friend, “Are you still angry at me?”  

“No,” Nico snapped, not looking at the Prince.

“Then why aren’t you speaking to me?”

“There’s nothing to speak about,” the Italian barked back and began climbing the slope. Percy stood below the boy and subconsciously stretched his arms out, in case he would fall backwards. It was in his nature, the will to protect the smaller boy. His best friend.

“Nico!” driven by a sudden passion Percy scrambled after the Italian, who was hurrying towards the mansion, dusting sand off himself. The Prince grabbed his wrist, forcing the servant to turn around, “Nico,” Percy said again, looking for the right words.

Nico pulled his wrist free, looking both angry and upset. That’s the only way he looked around Percy’s recently, and the Prince felt horrible that he was the cause of the boy’s sadness.

“What do you want?” Nico snapped, and he sounded exasperated, “What is it? Why do you pester me like this?! There’s nothing left to say, Percy, my feelings for you are clear and it’s obvious that you don’t reciprocate them-“

“What feelings?” Percy interrupted. Nico gaped at him.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am. What feelings?” Percy demanded. His heart started pounding and he stepped closer to Nico, not caring that anyone looking out of the window of Firat’s house would’ve seen them like this. Nico averted his gaze and bit his lip and he looked so _young_ for a second that Percy’s stomach twisted, “You wanted me to sleep with you.”

“Be quiet,” Nico squeezed his eyes shut, as if not wanting to remember.

“That’s all it was, wasn’t it?” Percy asked, desperation colouring his words, “you wanted to have sex.”

“I was in love with you,” Nico whispered, so quietly that the sea breeze almost snatched the words away. It was almost full dark and Percy felt as if someone had slapped him in the face. A tumult of emotions washed over him – happiness, excitement, fear, confusion.

“Was _?”_ he asked shakily.

“I’m not anymore,” Nico stepped away, his voice emotionless.

“It’s because of Jason, isn’t it?” Percy asked, shocked at the pain he was experiencing because of what Nico had just told him. The Prince didn’t love him though...he didn’t, he didn’t..., “You love him now, don’t you?”

“No!” Nico shouted, his cheeks colouring. He was such a bad liar.

“Jason doesn’t want to have sex with me anymore,” Percy whispered, “Because of _you.”_

Nico’s eyes widened “W-What?”

“That makes you happy, doesn’t it?”

“Why do you care?” Nico snapped, “You love Will so my feelings shouldn’t matter to you!” he took a shaky breath to calm himself, “I’ll see you at supper,” Nico said and briskly walked away. Percy felt like all of his strength had drained from him and didn’t have the energy to follow the boy and continue arguing. _Is this was heartbreak feels like?_ He thought distractedly. The smiling face of Will and the frowning face of Jason flashed in the Prince’s mind. Would loving them be any easier? How had he gotten himself into this mess in the first place?”

**23 th Ağustos 1482 (5 days later)**

**Fatih, Kostantiniyye, Turkey.**

_Dear Will._

_I miss you. I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but it’s true. I love the sea and it’s beautiful here and it feels wonderful to spend time with my cousin again. And yet I’m plagued by worry and I can’t completely submerge myself in the happiness of the sea. Nico avoids me like the Black Death, and he confessed that he had loved me before, but not anymore. I feel horrible for hurting him and my heart is conflicted. You know of my fondness for you, Will, and I hope you don’t hate me for it. I also harbour a soft spot for Jason and the fact he denies me, the same way you do, upsets me. Of course I would never want you to give yourself to me unwillingly and I will wait as long as it takes for you to warm to me again, even if I have to wait until we reach the beautiful_ Jannah _. I lay at night and wonder whether these feelings I have for Nico, and for you, and even for Jason, make me a bad person. I know man shall not love man, and I’m starting to fear I may love three of them, and that means that, undoubtedly, I will go to hell. That thought doesn’t scare me. What scares me is the realisation that none of you might ever love me, and I am afraid that you will think me disgusting for even having these feelings. I hope you don’t. I won’t write my true confession here, not yet. I want to say it to your face, and I can only hope it doesn’t bring you sadness._

_Please take care of my mother and of Adalet. I look forward to seeing you in six weeks._

_Prince Perseus._

Will read and re-read the letter by candlelight until the parchment got crumpled and the words had  began to blur. In the morn, when he had received the correspondence, he had foolishly left it on his bed, too eager to begin his duties and check up on Adalet, who he had developed a small friendship with. More than that he wanted to see Jason, for they were meant to go to the stables and look at the horses together. He hadn’t bothered to see who the letter was from and now, as tiredness made itself present in his body, the blond regretted it. Just seeing the familiar scrawl of Percy’s writing ignited a feeling in Will’s chest and he could barely remain still.

But the content of the letter worried him. The fact that both Nico and Percy were hurting created an ache in Will’s bones, and he wanted desperately to console them. It also alarmed him slightly that he felt no obvious distaste at the thought that there were feelings between the two boys because, subconsciously, he had also been desiring both of them. And with Jason in the mix, growing on Will more each day as they spent time together, it was beginning to be dangerous.

Will finally put the letter down and rubbed his eyes, sighing. It had been a long day and he yearned for his bed. He rose to his feet, eager to rest, when shouting and running footsteps erupted down the corridor. Will froze, his heart beginning to pound as he realised something bad must’ve happened. Hurriedly he shoved his letter under his pillow and emerged into the corridor.

Servants had spilled out onto the corridor at the commotion and the flames of several candles threw fantastical shadows on the walls. People were shouting commands and running around like madmen.

“Physician!” someone called, “Where’s the physician?!”

“I’m here!” Will replied, barely managing to pull a robe on as he pushed through the crowd of confused servants to the man that had called for him. It was someone in charge of the Harem while Nico was absent but Will didn’t know his name.

“Come, quick!” the man instructed, not waiting for Will as he began running. Realising the urgency of the situation, the medic took off after him, dread filling his veins. Something must’ve happened, something bad.

The man took him to the door leading to the east corridor, pushing him through hurriedly so suddenly Will found himself surrounded by women, screaming and wailing.

“What is it?!” he demanded, “what happened?!”

Pinar, who Will barely knew, appeared at his side, a wild, terrified look in her eyes, “It’s Adalet! She won’t stop bleeding!”

A brief flutter of nausea washed over Will before he pushed his emotions to the side and allowed the medic part of his mind to take over, “Take me to her,” he said, voice not betraying any of his emotions.

Outside the door to Adalet’s chambers was a hoard of women, some with looks of distain on their faces, others with worry etched into their features. Pinar pushed past all of them, tears shining in her eyes, and threw the doors open. Will followed her inside the room.

The light was low, coming from candles haphazardly distributed around the large, beautiful room. Adalet laid on a canopied bed, towels spread on the sheets to prevent the blood from soaking through. It was a useless measure as they were all already dyed red with the bodily fluid, and the bedding was undoubtedly ruined. Adalet herself looked like she had one foot in the afterlife, her face was pale, eyes wide, hair sticking to her wet forehead. She was trembling in her thin nightgown and below her barely showing belly was a sea of red.

At her side sat Athena, her face expressionless, mouth in a thin line. She didn’t hold her daughter, while Pinar threw herself at her lover’s bedside, clasping her hand. Will approached hurriedly,

“Bring more towels, and warm water,” he ordered two servant women who stood by the bed, terrified. They hurried out and Will looked over Adalet.

“Save the baby,” Athena hissed, glaring at Will.

“I’ll do everything I can,” the blond replied. He knelt down and tentatively placed a hand on Adalet’s stomach, “Does it hurt anyway?”

“M-My stomach and the surrounding areas,” the girl closed her eyes and sniffled. Pinar held her hand tightly, “I-It hurts, it’s cramping.” Will nodded and ran his hands over her belly. The amount of blood was alarming and the blond needed only a few moments to know what the diagnosis would be.

“Well?” Athena demanded.

“I-I can’t feel it,” Adalet sniffled suddenly, and her pretty face scrunched up as she let out a sob, “I-I can’t f-feel my b-baby.”

Blood gushed from between her legs and Will closed his eyes briefly when he saw a tiny, tiny shape among the red, only just beginning to resemble a baby, no bigger than his index finger, “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Do something!” Athena yelled, “Save the child! It’s the future Sultan!”

Adalet cried, heartbreakingly so, already knowing that there was no child. Pinar stood up and cradled the blonde’s head to her chest, stroking her hair and murmuring sweet nothings in an attempt to soothe her. The servants came back with towels and Will gently picked up the foetus in a towel.

“I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do,” he said gently, “Adalet has miscarried.”

“What does that mean?!” Athena demanded.

“The baby’s gone!” Pinar snapped at her, holding Adalet close. Will handed her the towel and she gave him a tight, thankful smile.

“You failed to save the pregnancy,” Athena growled.

“There was nothing I could’ve done, it was too late,” Will told her, his exhaustion returning. He felt like he would fall asleep on his feet, his hands were red with blood. He wanted to go.

“Soldiers!” Athena screamed suddenly, “Soldiers!”

Will’s eyes widened and Pinar jerked forward, “No!” she yelled, but two large eunuchs were already barging into the room. From the corridor the pale faces of the women peered in. The eunuchs stopped when they saw the state of Adalet.

“Take him!” Athena demanded, pointing to Will, “He has killed my daughter’s baby!”

“No I haven’t!” Will protested, but he had no power in this harem. Athena shouted at the soldiers and they moved forward, seizing the medic by the arms. He struggled, tried to explain himself, but nobody was listening as he was dragged through the Harem and shoved down stairs. His heart was pounded and he was in a confused state of exhaustion.

Before he knew it he was being thrust into a cold, dark, disgusting cell that smelled like rot. It was cold here and Will flinched when the door slammed behind him. He was underground, and remembered descending multiple staircases. He looked around, breathing hard, helpless, and found nothing in the cell save for rough, wet stone walls. Save for the door he had come in through there was only a tiny, barred window near the top of the cell.

Will slumped against the stones, allowing the reality of what had just happened to wash over him. In the moonlight falling through the pitiful window Will could see the blood on his hands and shirt. A sob bubbled up in his throat and a tear rolled down his cheek. He slid down the wall and curled in on himself, pulling his knees to his chest as he started to cry. He cried for himself, stuck in this hopeless situation, cold and afraid, and he cried for Adalet and the baby she had lost.

The exhaustion seeped in through his misery, the sobbing only sapping more of his energy. The world began to blur and before Will knew it he was falling sideways onto the cold, hard ground, his eyes falling shut.

He didn’t dream and his rest was short and insufficient. When he woke cold, grey light of dawn had crept into the cell, only succeeding in making it appear bleaker than it was. He picked himself up off the ground, feeling like every inch of his body was aching, and pounded on the door.

“This is a mistake!” he yelled, voice slurred, “I didn’t do anything!”

There was no reply. Sighting in frustration Will resumed his place on the floor. He was sure someone would come for him sooner or later... _but Percy is away for weeks, and so is Nico, and Adalet will be too tired to come down._ Doubt made Will curl up on himself. What if he was forgotten down here, for weeks and weeks? He closed his eyes and his stomach growled in hunger. He was so cold.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that but eventually his body grew numb and he lost feeling in his arse. He buried his face in his arms, which he rested on his knees, and tried to sleep, but it seemed impossible.

He didn’t know how long he remained in that state, but he only sat up when he heard the sound of the door opening. He tensed, expecting the worst, and was more than relieved when Pinar walked in. In her arms she carried a basin and towels.

“Pinar,” Will struggled to his feet.

“ _Günaydın_ ,” the girl greeted him. She looked as exhausted as Will felt, pale, with dark circles under her eyes. She set down the basin, “How are you? I am so sorry this happened.”

“I’m fine, how’s Adalet?” Will asked immediately. Pinar’s shoulders slumped.

“She’s...she’s going to live. But she’s heartbroken.”

“Of course,” Will murmured.

“We’re working on getting you out of here, but Athena had made an official accusation of murder against you.”

Will felt his stomach plummet, “We? As in you and...?”

Jason walked in through the cell door, a basket in one hand. Will felt so much relief that he thought his legs would give out. Seeing the blond, radiating beauty and comfort as always, made Will immediately relax.

“Jason,” he whispered. The blond smiled tightly,

“You don’t look too well.”

“I’ll leave you two alone for a moment,” Pinar said, glancing between them, “the soldiers only gave us a few minutes so don’t take too long.”

With that she slipped from the cell and closed the door. Jason set down his basket and looked at Will, and Will looked at him. A heartbeat of silence passed between them and then they both moved at the same time. Jason stepped forward and opened his arms and Will tumbled into them, clinging onto the other blond as he exhaled. Jason held him impossibly tightly, protectively clutching the medic to his chest. They had never embraced in their short friendship and yet this felt so natural and comforting that Will couldn’t imagine anything he wanted more than to stay in Jason’s strong, warm arms.

“I was so worried when Pinar told me,” Jason whispered, stroking Will’s hair gently. It might’ve been not the most appropriate thing but in these circumstances Will didn’t care. He pushed himself closer to the blond’s warmth, burying his face in the man’s shoulder.

“I was so scared,” Will admitted in a small voice, feeling like a child. He just needed Jason’s comfort in that moment.

“I know. You’re safe now, I won’t let them hurt you,” Jason murmured. Will stepped back, shaking.

“I’m filthy,” he muttered, looking at the smudges he left on Jason’s light clothes, “I’m sorry.”

Jason shook his head, “Don’t worry. Sit.”

Will did so, resting his back against the wall. Jason knelt next to him, bringing the basin with him. He carefully dipped a towel in the steaming water and brought it up to Will’s face. The blond didn’t object to this treatment, allowing his eyes to flutter shut as Jason gently brushed away the dirt and tear tracks off of his cheeks.

“You look exhausted,” he said.

“I am,” Will muttered.

“I know you tried to save the child.”

Will sighed and opened his eyes, “I couldn’t do anything, it was already too late,” he remembered the tiny shape he wrapped in the towel and his heart clenched. He felt tears well up in his eyes, “It was too late,” he repeated in a whisper.

Jason took his hands into his own. Will’s skin was crusted with dry blood and carefully the blond cleaned it off, as softly as if dealing with a wounded animal. The fact that he cared made the medic want to cry, because not many people in his life had truly cared.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he said in a broken whisper.

Jason stopped what he was doing and looked at Will. They were close, closer than they had ever been, their faces inches apart. The medic felt broken inside, like he wasn’t working properly, and he just wanted to lose himself in Jason’s kindness and forget the cruel, cold world around him.

“What can I do to make it better?” Jason asked, desperation visible in his blue eyes.

“Just hold me,” Will sniffled, “for a little bit.”

Jason slid his arms around the blond’s waist, pulling him closer. He pressed their foreheads together and the medic was too tired to question it or the pounding of his heart. He felt like this was the way it was meant to be, him and Jason, so close to one another. Will nuzzled his face against Jason’s, brushed their noses together. They lent into each other more, Will’s arms sliding around Jason’s shoulders, and their mouths met naturally. It wasn’t a passionate or rough kiss, but one of care and consolation. Jason’s mouth was soft and gentle against Will’s and the medic just wanted to melt against the man.

But Jason pulled away, only to kiss Will’s cheek, then his forehead, his jaw, underneath his ear. All feather-light kisses ensuring Will that he wasn’t alone. The blond could’ve cried then, from happiness.

“Jason, we have to go,” Pinar said, and Will hadn’t even noticed she had come in. The man kissed Will once more, then again, as if he couldn’t bear to let go of him.

“There’s food in the basket,” he murmured, “and a towel.”

 _“Jason,”_ Pinar hissed.

“I’ll take care of this, I promise.”

Will just nodded and tried not to acknowledge the painful emptiness he felt when Jason pulled away and mournfully slipped out of the cell, leaving the medic all alone again.

**23 th Eylül 1482 (12 days later)**

It had taken the messenger six days to get there, and Percy was determined to get back to his Harem in six days also. It had taken a week to get to Zonguldak but Percy knew that without the carriages full of luggage it could take much less time. He had apologised to his cousin the moment that he had gotten Jason’s letter, and Firat had ensured that all of Percy’s things would follow him soon to the Harem, at a slower pace. So now for days and days on end Percy had ridden in the same carriage as Nico, both of them putting their differences aside in order to ensure the safety of the people they both loved.

The countryside zoomed past the window of the carriage as the horses raced through Istanbul, the landscape outside auburn and gold with autumn, but Percy was too bust re-reading his ex-lover’s letter for the hundredth time to pay attention.

_Perseus._

_I write to you urgently and you must leave at once. Through a horrifying turn of events Adalet has lost her child and her mother now accuses Will of murdering it, even though it had been a natural ordeal and Will had nothing to do with it and couldn’t do anything to save the baby._

_Athena had him thrown into prison, and he’s imprisoned in a cell below the Harem. She was quick to spread rumours and the Sultan approved of her decision to sentence Will to death. He is to be executed in a fortnight by impalement even though both Pinar and Adalet have confirmed that Will is innocent of the crime. Athena won’t listen to reason, and even your mother can’t change the decision._

_Only you can save Will’s life so I beg you, return home and stop this madness._

_With hope,_

_Jason._

It was dated to the twenty fourth of August, which meant that if Percy’s calculations were correct they would return to the Harem with two days to spare before Will’s execution would be carried out. Honestly the Prince was furious that Athena had made this decision alone, but she must’ve gotten his father’s approval of the execution. It wouldn’t have taken much – Poseidon desperately wanted a grandson and if Athena had accused Will of murdering the child then he wouldn’t hesitate to sign off on his execution.

“You need to stop reading it,” Nico said softly. He was sitting opposite from Percy, hugging himself and looking tired. Neither of them could sleep much when they read the letter.

“I can’t,” Percy said, “What if it’s too late?”

“Don’t say that,” Nico whispered. Percy found comfort in the pain in his voice – it was good to know that there was someone who understood how he was feeling now, how afraid he was of losing someone he truly cared for. Still, Percy folded the letter and pocketed it.

“I owe you an apology.”

Nico closed his eyes briefly, “Percy – don’t. We have bigger problems now.”

They had avoided the conversation for days but Percy couldn’t keep his words at bay any longer, “I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted, now let’s move on,” Nico said. Percy looked out of the window.

“So...you love Jason?”

Nico looked down at his lap nervously, “And what if I do?”

“I think I love him too,” Percy admitted. Nico’s head snapped up.

“ _What?”_ he demanded. Percy shrugged.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he admitted, “It just...did.”

“And you love Will too?” Nico asked sourly. Percy nodded, “You’re going to take both of them away from me, aren’t you?”

“No!” Percy exclaimed, “No, I would never-“ Nico looked away sharply, and pain shone in his eyes. Percy sighed, “Nico, I don’t want to hurt you ever again. I want to take care of you, properly. I...,” Percy was finding it hard to find the right words to say right now.

Nico’s eyes widened suddenly, “I see it!” he shouted, and sure enough outside the window the Harem came into view, on a hill overlooking the city. Percy’s heart started pounding. In the late afternoon sun the whole place seemed stained red, as if with blood. He was unable to talk anymore, too anxious and scared about what he would soon witness as the carriage made its way closer and closer to their destination.

“He’ll be fine,” Nico whispered and it surprised Percy that he was the one offering comfort. Without thinking the Prince reached out and took Nico’s hand, squeezing it quickly.

***

By the time sunset had began, the carriage was pulling up to the front entrance of the Harem. The horses had not yet come to a complete stop before Percy and Nico were jumping out, sprinting inside the palace. They rushed past servants, ignoring their surprised expressions at their premature return.

“What do we do?!” Nico demanded.

“You go to the cell and make sure Will’s still there,” Percy stopped running in the entryway and grabbed Nico’s arm, facing him, “take him out of the cell, on my orders, and up to my chambers. Make sure he’s fed and...and you know, alright-“

“I know,” Nico nodded.

“I’m going to go speak with Athena and my mother and call the whole thing off. I need to write to my father and see Adalet. I’ll come to my chambers when I’m done.”

“Of course,” Nico nodded. Percy paused for a second, and then squeezed Nico’s arm.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and then he was off.

Getting a hold of himself a little, Nico made for the stairs. He nodded at the servants who greeted him, bowing their heads in respect, but didn’t stop to speak with them. His only priority was ensuring that Will was safe. He went down the stairs and then down another and the Harem grew more obscure around him – the tapestries disappeared off the walls, leaving behind naked stone, and it grew colder. When he made it to the cells he confidently strode up to the soldier in charge.

“Where is the physician?” he demanded. The guard’s eyes widened.

“C-Chief Black Eunuch!” the man spluttered, “You return sooner than anticipated.”

“Where is the physician?” Nico gritted out.

“I’m under strict orders to keep him imprisoned until his execution in two days,” the soldier said anxiously. Nico’s eyes narrowed.

“Well I’m under strict orders from Prince Perseus himself to have the man released,” he snapped, “he has been wrongfully imprisoned and is to be freed immediately.”

“I-I...,” the soldier hesitated.

“Prince Perseus is upstairs if you’d like to take the matter up with him instead,” there was a threat in Nico’s voice. Everyone knew about how close his relationship with the Prince was, and he carried much authority in the Harem.

“N-No! Anything you command, Chief,” the soldier said quickly and led Nico down the damp, dank corridor to a door in the wall. He shakily got out a bunch of keys and it took him a long, agonizing moment to find the one that fit, after which he pushed the door open and scuttled back like a hurt mouse.

Will was lying on the floor, asleep, and the state of him made Nico’s breath die in his throat. The blond was thinner than the last time the dark haired boy had seen him, and paler, his freckles standing out starkly against his complexion. His clothes were dirty and ripped, and his face stained and unwashed, much like his hair which appeared almost brown. His curls fell flatly around his gaunt face and yet he was still easily one of the most gorgeous people Nico had ever seen.

He walked up to the man and knelt down in front of him, carefully cradling his cheek in his hand, “Will,” he whispered softly. There was no response and for a blood-chilling second Nico thought that the medic was dead, “Will,” he muttered insistently. The blond’s eyelids twitched at that and his eyes fluttered open. He looked dazed, tired and confused as his gaze slid up to Nico’s face. His face remained blank until he suddenly registered who he was looking at.

“N-Nico?” he asked shakily, eyes wide. He struggled to sit up, staring at Nico as if he were a ghost, “You’re really here?”

“Yes, I’m here,” Nico smiled, biting back his tears of joy at seeing that Will was in one piece, “I’m getting you out.”

Will let out a shaky breath, “I-Is Percy back too?” he asked.

Nico’s heart dropped. Of course Will would wonder if the man he was in love with was back. What had the Italian expected? “Yes,” he replied, “Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

Will felt much more like himself after he had bathed. For over a week now he had been filthy and disgusting, thinking he most definitely looked and smelled like a wild animal. But after Nico drew him a bath in Percy’s chambers, with lovely smelling soaps and salts, the blond felt as good as new. When the dirt had peeled off his skin and his curls were back to their golden colour, he climbed out of the bath, wrapped himself up in one of Percy’s shirts, and left the separate bath room to go into the bedroom.

Nico was waiting for him on the bed, sprawled out and looking tired from his journey. By then darkness had fallen outside and the Italian had taken care to light some candles.

“You look much better,” he admitted, propping himself up on his arm and looking at Will, “Almost like your old self.”

“That’s good to hear,” Will smiled. He felt like he hadn’t done that in a long time – smile. He looked at Nico, and Nico looked at him, and the boy hesitated for a moment before shifting up the huge bed and peeling back the covers.

“Come on, you’re probably freezing,” he muttered, a light blush dusting his cheeks. Will was too euphoric at gaining his freedom back to care about how ‘proper’ this situation was and he gladly climbed into the luscious bed, laying next to Nico so they were facing each other, “Your hair’s wet,” Nico remarked. Will’s smile widened.

“How unfortunate,” he teased. Nico responded with a smile mirroring Will’s and the blond felt that his heart would burst in a moment from how happy he was. How was it possible that only earlier that day he had felt hollow and alone, awaiting the dragging minutes until his death, while now he felt like he was in heaven. Unable to stop himself, Will reached out and touched Nico’s cheek lovingly. The Italian jolted and the blond withdrew his hand hurriedly, heart fluttering, “S-Sorry-“

“No, no,” Nico said hurriedly, grabbing Will’s hand and pulling it back, “Sorry, you startled me, that’s all,” he said, averting his eyes as he placed Will’s hand back over his flushed cheek.

“I just want to touch you. To make sure you’re real and this isn’t some cruel dream,” Will admitted, thumb stroking Nico’s high cheekbone. The boy was beautiful, and warm, and the realest thing Will had ever touched. Nico kept his hand over Will’s, securing it in place, but Will wanted more than just their hands to touch.

“I am real,” Nico responded.

“I know,” Will murmured, his eyes feeling heavy, “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Do you want me to show you that I’m real?” Nico asked softly, and Will was too tired and mentally exhausted to understand the connotations of that question, so he simply nodded, not anticipating that Nico would surge forward and kiss him.

Will’s automatic response was to jerk away, eyes wide. He found himself facing an equally shocked Nico. The blond’s heart pounded and he tried to comprehend the situation and make a sensible decision about what to do next, but the moment Nico’s mouth opened to undoubtedly provide some sort of apology or explanation, Will knew he would be unable to hold back.

This time he kissed Nico, closing the tiny gap between their bodies. The content sight that the blond felt against his lips ensured him that this was what Nico wanted. Will shifted their bodies together and pressed himself close to Nico as the Italian wrapped his arms around Will’s neck and kissed back. It was a slow, sensual kiss, hesitant and curious, but full of underlying desire. It was a lovely, lovely kiss and Will wanted to continue it forever.

“I hope we’re not interrupting,” the sudden voice made both the boys snap away from each other and scramble to sit up. Will’s heart pounded at the sudden realisation that they had been caught in an illegal act, but all of the air left his body when he saw none other than Percy and Jason standing in the door.

“You look better,” Jason smiled, closing the door and Will was sure that his presence would always, always calm him. Percy on the other hand, made his heart pound.

“Hello,” he whispered, impossibly perfect.

“Hello,” Will replied softly. He saw Percy’s resolve melt as he crossed the room and took Will into his arms, pulling him to his feet and crashing their mouths together. It was nothing like the kiss he had just had with Nico – this one was desperate and almost helpless, a kiss of two lovers reuniting. Will didn’t want to fight it, so he didn’t, going limp in Percy’s arms as he kissed back with just as much passion.

“I’m sorry,” Percy whispered, before hurriedly kissing Will again, their lips sliding together and breaths mingling, “I promised,” another sloppy, arousing kiss, “I’d never touch you again,” another kiss, “but I can’t stop myself.”

Will wrapped his arms around Percy’s shoulders, keeping him from speaking as he kissed back roughly, fingers sliding into the boy’s hair. They kissed until they couldn’t breathe anymore and their lips were swollen and aching, and only then did they pull apart, still holding onto each other.

“I missed you,” Jason’s gentle voice somewhere behind Will made the blond twist in Percy’s arms. Jason had laid down on the bed next to Nico, his arm loosely slung around the Italian’s waist as he peppered the boy’s flushed face with kisses, “I missed you so much.”

Will couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to squeeze himself between the two men. He just wanted all of them to be together, limbs all tangled up, but he knew that it was impossible.

Or so he thought.

Percy released Will from his arms and walked around the bed to Nico’s side, climbing on and looking at Jason over the Italian, “Did you not miss me?” he asked with a teasing smile. Jason sat up and faced Percy for a second, before reaching out to cradle his cheek in his hand. He leaned over Nico and connected their mouths together in the sweetest kiss that Will had ever seen. Honestly it should’ve made the medic jealous, but it didn’t, and the whole situation should’ve been tense and awkward and uncoordinated, but it wasn’t. All of them were so exhausted and had just gone through so much that none of them cared about the technical side of this situation.

Will, feeling cold all alone, climbed onto the bed, ducking under the kissing couple to lie back down opposite Nico. The boy looked upset, the side of his face pressed into the pillow. It hurt the medic to see him like that.

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning in for a kiss. Nico turned his face away and Will frowned, “what’s wrong?” he asked quietly, so Jason and Percy didn’t hear. Nico shook his head but when Will nuzzled into his neck he broke.

“You all want each other,” he whispered brokenly, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Did I just hear that right?” Jason demanded above them, and he dropped down to prop himself up behind Will. The medic twisted around, so he could hug himself into Jason’s chest and enjoy the feel of him, the only thing that had comforted him in his cell. Meanwhile Jason had grabbed Nico by the shoulders and pulled him close, “I don’t want to hear you say that again,” he growled.

“But-,” Nico started to protest, only to be silenced by Jason’s demanding kiss. Will would’ve lied if that didn’t make heat crawl over his body and he pulled away from Jason’s chest in order to kiss up his warm neck, creating a trail of wet kisses on his skin. This was all new; so far Will and Jason had only been comfort kisses and hugs and soothing touches. But this was exciting.

Will bit playfully at the blond’s jaw, feeling more awake than ever, and Jason broke his kiss with Nico in order to crash his mouth to Will’s. His kisses were slow but intensely passionate, making heat sizzle in Will’s stomach. The heat of Nico’s body against Will’s back made the blond even more aroused and he reached back to cradle the back of Nico’s head, pulling away from Jason in order to kiss the Italian. As he did so Jason changed their positions, sliding down so he could trail his mouth over Will’s neck instead. He had gentle stubble and it caught on Will’s skin in the most pleasurable way.

They all became aware of the lack of Percy’s participation at the same time, and looked up to see the Prince leaning against the opposite headboard, looking at them with intense, dark eyes. He had pulled the curtains of the canopy closed so only some muted candle light stole into their little world.

“Keep going,” Percy whispered, voice hoarse, and then his eyes slid to the Italian, “Actually Nico, come here.”

The dark haired boy, with a nudge from Will and a quick kiss from Jason, crawled away from the two blond’s. The medic didn’t see what he did because Jason grabbed him by the back of the head and kissed him again. Will just wanted more of him, he felt like he was drunk off of Jason. He threw his leg around the blond’s waist and in response Jason grabbed his thigh and dragged him closer, so their crotches were pressed together. Jason gasped shakily and Will moaned into his mouth, feeling his groin begin to swell.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Jason whispered, hands sliding down Will’s sides to grab his hips.

“Mhmmm,” Will replied, licking at Jason’s bottom lip, pleased when he felt a hardness press against his own clothed erection. He should’ve felt more self conscious or embarrassed about the situation, but he didn’t. He unapologetically rocked against Jason, rubbing their cocks together and eliciting a soft groan from both their mouths.

Without warning Jason pulled away from Will’s mouth and started kissing his neck again, simultaneously beginning to take apart his clothes, sliding off his nightshirt and throwing it aside so his mouth could slide down Will’s naked chest. The blond was panting for air as Jason licked downwards, briefly dipping his tongue into the boy’s belly button as he undid his trousers. Will knew what Jason was going to do, and he wasn’t going to stop him. Still, when the man wrapped his lips around the tip of Will’s cock it still came as a shock. A jolt of pleasure ran down Will’s spine and he cried out embarrassingly loud, grabbing at Jason’s hair for something to hold onto.

He felt hot lips against the back of his neck.

***

“Actually Nico, come here.”

The desire in Percy’s eyes made the Italian shiver and he hesitated. Jason and Will were so caring and loving and passionate, kissing Nico like they really wanted him, but Percy...Percy was unpredictable.

Will nudged at him though, a mischievous smile on his flushed face and a quick kiss from Jason corroborated the idea that they wanted him to go to Percy. Still, Nico couldn’t help but feel nervous as he crept across the bed. Percy’s eyes were trained just on him though, and not on Will and Jason who were kissing passionately.

“Don’t be scared,” Percy whispered.

“I’m not,” Nico grumbled, but he stopped right in front of the Prince, not touching him. When Percy extended his hand it took Nico a moment before he took it. He was shocked when Percy hauled him forward, so Nico straddled his lap. The boy squeaked, blushing from embarrassment.

“Percy, what-“

“I could make a long speech about how sorry I am,” Percy started, his quick fingers making light work of Nico’s kaftan and undershirt, which he pulled off of the shy boy with little resistance, tossing the clothes to the side, “and how bad I feel about rejecting you, but I’m not going to. I’m just going to say one thing,” he pulled Nico close, and the boy was still in a state of shock, “I’m in love with you.”

All of the protests and arguments building up in Nico’s mouth were silenced when Percy kissed him. It was rough, passionate, demanding, and everything Nico had fantasized it would be, and more. His shaking hands scrambled to hold onto something as he was suddenly assaulted by emotions, his stomach twisting and heart skipping a beat. He tried to kiss back, but he was absolutely frozen, unable to move.

That didn’t stop Percy though as he pushed his tongue past Nico’s lips, licking and exploring seemingly every inch of his mouth, forcing a whimper from the Italian. At the same time his hand slid to the front of Nico’s trousers and he palmed at the man’s semi-hard cock. Nico’s hips stuttered and he mewled.

“P-Percy wait,” he gasped.

“I can’t wait,” Percy growled, eyes dark, “I’ve waited too long.”

He pressed his mouth to Nico’s neck in order to suck hard at the skin, making Nico’s back arch and his mouth fall open in a silent moan. It was bizarre to know that Jason and Will were so close and yet Percy was kissing _him._ Still, Nico felt, in his dizzy mind, that something was missing.

A sudden cry of pleasure that couldn’t have belonged to anyone but Will sounded and Nico twisted in Percy’s arms to look at the two blond’s who he had almost forgotten about. He was shocked when he saw Will completely naked, with Jason between his legs, sucking his cock without shame. Arousal burned new and wild in Nico’s veins and he hurriedly climbed off of Percy’s lap.

“Come on,” he whispered. Percy smirked and followed him back to the two other men. He laid next to Will, whose eyes were closed, face flushed and mouth open as a litany of moans spilled from his throat. Percy grabbed his face roughly and kissed Will violently and one of the blond’s hands slipped out of Jason’s hair to grab Percy’s, keeping the Prince close.

Nico knew what he wanted to do. He shrugged out of his trousers and slid down the bed, so he was on the opposite side of Will to Jason. The man looked amazing, mouth stretched around Will’s cock, eyes closed. When he felt Nico’s presence he released the member with a wet sound and looked at the Italian, who immediately leaned forward and licked up the underside of the medic’s erection. Will’s hips jerked up but his noises were muffled by Percy’s mouth. Meanwhile Nico’s lips found the head of the blond’s cock and he began to suck on it, not minding the salty taste in his mouth.

Jason returned to the sucking too, running his tongue over Will’s cock. It was impossibly hot and hard against Nico’s tongue and he wanted to keep sucking it, but he grew distracted when Jason also came up to the tip and their mouths slid together. Suddenly Nico found himself kissing the man instead of sucking Will, their wet mouths sliding together sloppily. By then the Italian was throbbing in his trousers, and so was the Greek for when Nico reached down to Jason’s crotch he felt an excitable hardness there.

“I want you to fuck me again,” Nico whispered heatedly against Jason’s mouth, pulsing with want. The blond’s response was a growl and a rough haul upwards, so they were lying next to Percy and Will again.

Nico shivered feverishly when he felt Jason’s hand against his naked arse, squeezing the globes. The blond reached beneath the mountain of pillows the four were lying on and produced a vial of oil which he proceeded to coat his fingers in. He kissed Nico and reached behind him, easily burying one digit in the boy’s awaiting hole. The Italian squirmed at the burning feeling of being penetrated, but his passage was accustomed to Jason so as the Greek drew his finger out and pushed it back in slowly Nico felt a thrum of pleasure go through him.

“Jason, let me do it,” Will sounded breathless and aroused and Nico twisted around to face him, panting. The blond immediately pulled him forward, his hands sliding down to grab Nico’s arse. The Italian squirmed and whimpered, not knowing whether to push himself forward against Will or back against Jason.

The Greek had taken to kissing and biting the back of his neck as Will reached around to slide his own fingers into Nico’s already wet hole.

“F-Fuck,” Nico gasped, mouth and thighs falling open.

“God, I love you,” Will whispered desperately, and if Nico could find his voice he would’ve replied.

***

Percy didn’t know who to touch; the three people next to him were honestly all he had wanted in the world. Having Will nestled in his arms and watching him finger Nico slowly, drawing out breathless moans from the boy, was exhilarating. At the same time Jason’s smouldering gaze and teasing fingers, brushing against his hip, were driving him insane in the best way.

Percy’s aching cock made itself known once more and the Prince knew that he would be unable to keep himself together for much longer, especially not with the tantalizing way that Will was grinding his backside against Percy’s crotch, just begging to be fucked.

Percy pushed forward, forcing Will and Nico against each other, and pulled Jason closer. He leaned over the heads of the two boys in order to reach the Greek’s mouth and they shared a heated kiss as Percy found Nico’s mouth with his hand, dipping three of his fingers past the boy’s wet lips. Immediately Nico clamped around the digits, sucking vigorously and making Percy’s cock twitch in his trousers. He felt the Italian’s tongue swirl around his skin and he wondered what it would feel like around other parts of himself...alas, there would be a time for everything.

When Percy pulled his fingers free, Nico moaned. The Prince bit playfully at Will shoulder as his hand travelled down, to the boy’s arse. He gave the medic no warning as he suddenly pushed a digit in.

“Ah!” Will cried out, back arching. Jason smirked and Nico leaned forward to kiss the medic’s neck as the blond continued to sloppily finger him. Somewhere along the way Jason’s digits had also found their way inside Nico’s hole and as they moved together with Will’s they made a wet, arousing noise, “P-Percy,” Will whimpered, grinding back against Percy’s hand.

“Good boy,” Percy murmured, biting Will’s earlobe. The blond panted, leaning his forehead against Nico’s, who had a line of bruises down his neck from where Jason was kissing him. The delicious heat of Will’s hole, clenching around his fingers, was making Percy impatient. He hurriedly thrust a second digit in, and Will let out another amazing moan. Jason arm slung over Nico’s waist so he could grasp his cock with Will’s as he began to stroke both of them together.

“N-No,” Nico whined, leaning back against the Greek, panting, “J-Jason I-I’ll come-“

Percy couldn’t do it anymore, he withdrew his fingers from Will and pushed his own trousers down enough to allow his hard, aching cock to spring free. It stood at full attention and the Prince wasted no time as he grabbed the oil from next to Jason’s head and smeared some over his member before pushing into Will’s inviting, tight entrance. The blond chocked on a moan, his head falling forward against Nico’s shoulder.

“O-Oh fuck,” he gasped, his back tensing. Percy sunk into the delicious tight heat that he had missed for so long, his fingers digging into Will’s hips. It was even better than last time because now Percy wasn’t worried about anybody walking in and interrupting them. He buried his face in Will’s neck to muffle the moan bubbling up in his throat, and he bit at the boy’s neck. Then he slid over the blond’s shoulder and nudged his nose against Nico’s, who looked flushed and dazed as he slid his lips against Percy’s.

Will’s fingers had slipped from the Italian’s hole and as Percy kept his pulsating cock still inside the medic, desperate not to come too early. He wanted this to last as long as possible because it was everything he wanted, the three men he loved all pressed together, and he doubted this would ever happen again. Percy pulled away from Nico’s mouth and kissed his jaw and the Italian smiled.

The smile melted off his face when Jason wrapped an arm around his chest from behind, and thrust into the boy. Nico’s eyes widened and his lips fell open and he dropped his head into Jason’s arm, making the sweetest, most arousing sound that Percy had ever heard. It was almost enough to make him orgasm right then and there, but he gritted his teeth and stopped himself. Will’s hole pulsated around him and the Prince was completely overwhelmed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Nico whispered feverishly, dragging Will close, so their bodies were pressed together, erections trapped between their bodies.

“Shhh,” Jason whispered, kissing below Nico’s ear and reaching across him to place a hand on Will’s hip. Percy shifted his own hand so he could intertwine his fingers with Jason’s.

Will was panting, face half-buried in the pillows, “M-Move,” he whispered. Percy was more than happy to oblige and he slowly drew his hips back, before pushing back in at the same pace. Will exhaled shakily and Jason, following Percy’s lead, began thrusting gently into Nico too. In the dim light, blocked by the canopy, Percy couldn’t tell where Nico ended and Will started because they were pressed so close together.

Heat spread through the Prince’s body and his toes curled in pleasure as he began to increase his thrusts. Will took him easily, as if they were meant to be like this, and where he had taken charge their first time together in the tent, now he was just warm and pliant in Percy’s arms, allowing him to do anything he pleased as he moaned softly into Nico’s mouth. The Italian was more vocal though, moans and whimpers spilling from his mouth as Jason lifted his leg in order to get better access to the boy’s hole.

“O-Oh fuck,” Nico whimpered, clawing at Will’s back.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jason murmured into the dark haired boy’s skin and a shiver went through Percy. He just loved seeing them together. He let go of Jason’s hand on Will’s hip in order to slide his hand underneath the blond’s arm and angle his head upward so they could kiss. As he did that, Percy started thrusting faster. Will trembled as Percy plunged his cock into him, whimpering and pushing back.

The pleasure Percy felt was so intense that he couldn’t quite focus on anything more. Sweat beaded on his skin and he couldn’t catch his breath but he didn’t care as he fucked Will, harder and harder, and the medic just whispered his name helplessly against the Prince’s lips.

Jason meanwhile pushed on Nico’s hip, so the boy rolled over onto his stomach, and pulled him up so he was on all fours as he started to ram his cock into him, over and over, oil and precum dripping down Nico’s milky thighs, his own member standing to full hardness. Percy’s own movements subconsciously increased just from watching Jason’s thick cock disappear into the Italian, the same way it had done to him many times before. The arch of Nico’s back was mesmerizing, his flushed cheeks and parted mouth electrifying. Will on the other hand looked like a debauched angel, lips swollen and eyes looking up at Percy pleadingly.

“Mine,” Percy growled possessively, punctuating the word with a rough thrust. Will cried out.

Without warning Jason pulled his still hard, leaking erection out of Nico, who slumped against the bed, trembling and completely unable to move.

“Jason, what are you-,” Percy started and the blond pulled the Prince towards him, forcing him to slide out of Will. Before the dark haired boy could ask what Jason was planning, the blond crashed their mouths together. A thrum of pleasure went through Percy and he moaned, automatically wrapping his arms around Jason’s broad shoulders. Almost violently Jason shoved Percy back down on the bed, pushing his thighs apart and settling between them.

“Jason-,” the Prince tried again, but the blond wasn’t listening as he suddenly thrust into Percy. The Prince’s back arched and he let out an involuntary cry that was quickly swallowed by Will’s mouth covering his.  Percy sunk his fingers into the boy’s curls as Jason wasted no time for being gentle or slow, driving his cock into Percy in a bruising manner. The Prince’s toes curled and he felt his stomach tightening at the feeling, his own member jerking and leaking all over his stomach.

Will ended the kiss and pulled Nico over. The Italian was still boneless, eyes half-lidded, fluffy hair stuck to his forehead. Will kissed him passionately and then mirrored Jason’s position as he too began to thrust into Nico. Percy sobbed at the feeling of the blond inside him, hitting all the right spots as if he knew where they were. It was unlike any of their previous encounters where Jason was calm and collected – now he seemed to have completely lost control, and Percy loved it.

“ _Will,”_ Nico whined as the medic fucked him, a hand wrapping around the Italian’s cock. His own fingers scrambled to hold onto Percy’s arm, “W-Will n-no-“

“I’m g-going to come soon,” the blond whispered, stroking Nico in time with his thrusts. Jason grabbed Will’s face and turned it so he could kiss him, their tongues sliding together in a way that made Percy’s cock throb. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around it, feeling his own orgasm fast approaching. Nico surprised him by reaching over and batting his hand away, replacing it with his own. The feeling of Nico’s smaller fingers around his cock made Percy’s whole body shake and when paired with Jason’s erection inside him it proved to be too much.

“I-I’m going...I-I...,” Percy couldn’t speak, moans interrupting his words as the pleasure intensified so much that he knew he would explode. Nico stroked him faster, his own sounds of pleasure spurring Percy on. He felt Jason’s cock convulse inside of him and heard him groan, and then the world went white.

***

Jason finished wiping the last of the evidence of their love-making off of Will’s chest. The blond smiled at him sleepily and Jason leaned down to kiss the top of his head before walking across the room and dropping the dirty cloth into a basin of water. It should’ve been uncomfortable, at least now, when the haze of lust had passed and the four boys had come to their senses.

But it wasn’t.

Jason turned back to the bed, where his lovers were all lying beneath the covers. Percy and Will had their arms wrapped around each other, Nico captured between their chests, their legs all tangled together.

“Jason, hurry up,” Will muttered, voice slightly slurred. The blond peeled back the covers and slipped into the warm, large bed behind Will, sliding his arm around both his and Nico’s waist, barely reaching Percy. The Prince shifted closer to try and touch Jason.

“Can’t breathe!” Nico protested from between them. Jason, Will and Percy all snickered fondly.

“This really should be more peculiar,” Will decided, leaning his head back to plant a kiss just underneath Jason’s chin. They were all naked, soft and content.

“I know,” Nico whispered, pressed into Percy’s chest. The Prince looked down at him with gentle eyes and cupped his chin, angling his face upwards so he could kiss him.

“I love you.”

“Stop saying t-that,” Nico pulled away, shaking. Will exchanged a worried look with Jason.

“Hey,” the medic started gently, stroking the back of Nico’s head, “He’s telling the truth. He does love you. I think we all do.”

“S-Shut up,” Nico tried to push himself away from Percy but there was nowhere to go so he just curled into himself more, burying his face in a pillow. Jason sat up and climbed over, so he was hovering over Nico. He took the boy’s arm gently and tried to turn him but the Italian shrugged him off. Jason glanced at Percy, who looked upset. Jason hated seeing him like that.

“I love you,” Jason murmured into Nico’s shoulder. Nico sniffled into the pillow.

“S-Stop.”

Will wrapped his arms around Nico from the back and started kissing his neck and shoulders, and the boy trembled and cried softly. Percy took his face in his hands, forcing him to look at him. Nico’s eyes were red and brimming with tears.

“Don’t cry,” Percy said brokenly, and he kissed away the tear that tumbled down Nico’s cheek, “Don’t cry, I love you.”

Nico just shook his head desperately and chocked on a sob. Jason forcefully pulled the boy up and into his arms, hugging him protectively. Nico allowed him to do so, pressing his face into the blond’s shoulder and continuing to cry quietly. Will and Percy pulled themselves up and wrapped Nico up in their arms, stroking the boy’s naked back and his hair until he calmed down and stopped crying. Then Jason laid down on his back, pulling Nico on top of him, so the Italian curled up on his chest. Percy and Will settled on either side of the Greek, Will throwing an arm over both Jason and Nico while Percy nuzzled Jason’s neck and kissed his cheek.

“I love you, Jason,” he whispered. Jason freed his arm and wrapped it around the Prince, bowing his head to kiss him delicately, “I’m sorry I made you feel like a fucktoy, when I only wanted to sleep with you because I was in love with you.”

“Shhh, it’s alright. I love you too. And I love you, Will,” he turned his head to kiss Will’s forehead. The medic closed his eyes and smiled, “and I love you, Nico, but you don’t have to say it back,” Jason murmured. Nico replied with a soft sniffle. Will reached across Jason and took Percy’s hand in his.

“I love you, Percy.”

Percy kissed his hand.

“Can you stop?” Nico asked hoarsely.

“Why?” Will asked, propping himself up on his arm, “You know it’s true.”

“I lov-,” Percy started. Nico surged to the side and kissed him. Percy’s eyes widened.

“Shut up,” Nico growled.

“Why-,” Jason opened his mouth but Nico was on him, connecting their mouths and silencing the man. He looked pointedly at Will as he pulled back. The medic grinned and opened his mouth and with an eye roll Nico leaned over and also kissed him. This time the kiss was slower. Will smiled.

“I’m starving,” he murmured. Percy groaned and snuggled into Jason’s side.

“I’m not getting up.”

“But I’m _starving,”_ Will protested, “Who knows how long it’ll be before I’m thrown back into that cell?”

“You’re fine,” Percy replied, “I sent Athena away.”

“You did?” Nico blinked in surprise, not crying any longer. The Prince shrugged.

“What she did was unforgivable,” he said, stroking Will’s arm, “besides, Adalet doesn’t want any children yet, not after what she’s been through, and so Athena was willing to leave.”

Nico bit his lip, “Maybe we should go see if she’s alright?”

“Yes, but can I eat first?” Will grumbled.

**14 th Eylül 1487 (5 years later)**

Nico laid in his bed and listened to the birds singing away outside the window. It was a sunny and warm morning for autumn hadn’t quite yet crept up on the Ottoman Empire. The Italian rolled over in the bed, yawning, and found himself face to face with a sleeping Sultan Perseus.

“Wake up,” Nico grumbled. Percy didn’t react, deep in the land of dreams. Nico sighed and pressed a kiss to the corner of the Sultan’s mouth, “Percy.” The Sultan smiled in reply but didn’t open his eyes, “ _Percy,_ wake up you lazy arse.”

“Shhh, you’re so loud,” Percy whispered, not opening his eyes as he reached out and dragged Nico into his chest. The younger man squirmed in his grasp.

“We need to get up,” he protested, “you can’t sleep all day!”

“Yes I can,” Percy burrowed his face in Nico’s neck, playfully biting the skin there. Nico rolled his eyes and sighed.

“We’re not doing this now,” he said.

“Why?” Percy teased.

“I’m still sore from last night.”

“Well I can receive then,” Percy was fully awake now, eyes dark from sleep and hair mused. He rolled partly on top of Nico, “Come on, I missed you in my dreams.”

Nico slapped a hand over his mouth and pushed his lover away, “You breath stinks.”

Percy pouted, “You’re so cruel. Jason, tell him he’s cruel.”

“You two are like children,” the Greek replied from the opposite side of the room where he was getting dressed. Percy collapsed back onto the bed in a huff but Nico climbed off, padding naked across the room and wrapping his arms around Jason, pressing himself into the blond’s back. Jason smiled and turned around so he could cradle Nico’s face in his hands and kiss him, “Good morning, beautiful.”

“You don’t care if _his_ breath stinks!” Percy protested from the bed. Jason pecked Nico quickly and stepped out of his embrace, walking to Percy and pulling him out of the sheets, “No!” the Sultan protested, “it’s cold!”

“Then put some clothes on,” Nico laughed, crossing his arms over his chest, “The children will be here any moment.”

“Fine, fine,” Percy grumbled, and he barely had time to pull on his trousers before the door to the bedroom opened. Nico squeaked and dived back into bed, wrapping the sheets around himself to hide his nakedness as Adalet, Pinar and Will entered. The three held four children by the hand among them; there were two of Adalet’s girls and Pinar’s son and daughter.

“Baba!” the oldest daughter, four years old, dashed towards Percy.

“Hello, sunshine,” Percy picked her up and twirled her around, “How are you on this wonderful morning?” he asked. Seeing his face light up with love for his children filled Nico with joy and judging by Jason’s facial expression, it filled him with joy too.

“Baba!” the only son babbled, waddling over on his short legs. Percy laughed and scooped him up.

Will broke away from the two beautiful _Kadins_ he had stood with and walked over to Nico, “Nice to see you awake,” he murmured, caressing the boy’s cheek.

“Little warning next time,” Nico grumbled, “I’m naked.”

Something gleamed in Will’s eyes, “If the children weren’t here...,” he said, voice low. Nico grinned and glanced to the side, but all the young ones were preoccupied with Percy and not paying attention to the two men, so Nico grabbed Will’s shirt and pulled him down for a chaste kiss.

Nico would be happy if ever morning for the rest of his life looked like this.


End file.
